the wind picked up this morning and blasted all the spaces, rolling recyclables down and into the street, carrying yesterdays news away. i am awake and listening. community some dream at dawn. i cook up some oatmeal and brown sugar. high speed internet and a chance to reconnect. living well can make you soft and vulnerable but not necessarily weak. that depends on you.
fall the fields arid
the vineyards patched out
from the sky
we worry the wind
we worry the skin of earth
and tree. shed out
and sprawling free
end of night
i follow the arc of the tip
of your cig.
you damned drunk!
and quietly stamp out
what if you became we
would the disparity between our worldviews
what made you
i would organize
we rode on out to see your cousins down along the river road, into the delta and god was it beautiful, America. dazzling on an autumn afternoon. we paid respects to your mom along the way. the sun would leave the cemetery sky red hot on its descent in the west. i never knew your father was an artist until you showed me his studio deep in the lot, behind the garage. there was a portrait of a beautiful woman on the easel, maybe the beloved in the beloved years? 94 now he lives with sophia the cavalier.
back to wood floors. they are pulling up the carpets now. the orange tree what with its lime hybrid. beginning to bear fruit. we shared baked beans and fried chicken and i listened to his story of coming to this country, up from Mexico, a teenager hoping on some work and a couple hundred dollars to take home. an older man convinced him to hop the freight train and go north to Indio. from there they decided on Sacramento. the man taught him if you dress up a little you can get work easy. he doesn’t know what became of his friend, who got drunk one night and disappeared. that was three quarters of a century ago. old sacramento was a community of migrants.
i wonder about the spirit and where it travels when somebody is no longer around? your dad is a good man. what a life. he’s been through it. and he still gets up and out into the orchard for it. working for more at ninety-four.
the sun below ground at 4 o’clock
the sky could feel her
runnin in colors off a
some kids got sent back to aisle 5 at the safeway
tryin to buy single coronas off a
i was searchin for my simple honeybee
bear and asked around. we found each other
in lucky no.7
across the street turned up 8 ounces
coffee. hot and fierce. not a bad start
for a day
not a bad start at all
stay present and you can handle
morning coffee and oatmeal, and the cool autumn air seeping through the screen to wake you up. today i will be out of the house from 8am-9pm. i have been sleeping well with the cool nights though my cats wake me up frequently but i’m used to it. my novella is in pretty good shape and hoping to send it out soon to some betas for a test read before i complete the next and possibly final draft. now that i have published 5 works under my name, i learned to stop forecasting the finishing, it almost always takes longer than i expected. the new novella has ZERO fantasy elements in it, as its grounded in turn of the century (millenium) action, circa 1999. this seems to be the time and place i gravitate towards. if i am ever to be known as an American author by a great many people, i can only hope they will appreciate my reflections of this era.
the ring you gave me years ago when
we were still in love
i lost it. i did not know i had
in the lot adjacent to the autoparts store
touch up paint spilled so i scrubbed
my hands with pumice
how we died. i cannot stand the memory the
fallout years ago
we could no more kill
it with kindness only
i once was so very
alone if i encountered you
and we went sideways
the moment would burn