Here are a few Little Vines. I’m out of routine this week due to my eye surgery, and got behind, but I wanted to put out a few. Luckily there are always some LV’s that are partly finished- they have two lines out of the three or four I want as I define the format – ans I devoted myself to finishing up these today. Here they are…
Once again it’s Adieu to any kind of
a graceful civility, yes –
But this time it’s her fault.
the man with casual hair
in a magnetic shade of iron-gray and
a stainless-steel razor for a heart set to cut me in two
the flies orbit their target:
the dead dog who was not given a choice for
its own funeral rites.
the bus trundling through the rain
the sole passenger
my aunt holding a bakery box on her lap
the coffee suffers
when she wakes up late
and in a bad mood
Guess what Mom is here. You think of her
an amusing ancient too old too insensible
but really, I’d take her a lot more seriously
if I were you
the music begins:
a dream come truly true
and then she pirouettes
the swirls of neon flash the message
up and down the disconnected streets
threading it through the crowds
until there is a smile on every face
The box in the attic waited for years
Until the house burned down and it was
Homeless. Slumped on the curb peed on by a dog.
Still, it hopes. What else can it do?
It’s just exercise
in these circumstances.
treading water seventy feet out in the ocean
I finally realize the truth:
I am not and never will be a mermaid.
the heiress of three hundred years ago
lively and fey. Now she is a giggly ghost
with a British accent
hostess of the family tomb. Immortal.
7 thoughts on “Little Vines 9/18/21”
Tasty morsels in the box of chocolates. 07 and 09 are my favorites this time.
Thank you. I hope that box from the attic gets a chance to tell whatever story it is trying to express…
You’re very welcome. Ditto
I too have noted that I will never be a mermaid…luckily not under the same circumstances. (K)
There is a flinty, brittle coldness to several of these LVs this week so I have the sense of more of a tone connection this time than a thematic one. Maybe that is why the poem that really leapt out to me this week was the one with the neon sign that made everyone smile and suggests warmth and the possibility of finding connection again.
This week I was very distracted and exhausted with my eye problems and so I used up scraps of half-written ones. I wonder if in a different frame of mind the resolving line (the last ones I write of course) would have been in a different mood or tone?
I think that about my art. When I look back through a sketchbook, I can always tell which pages I filled when I was tired or cranky or just not in a creative mood.
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