understanding the neighbor

W* found way to the neighbor's doorstep this morning.  raised its head to the neighbors, expecting.  anyone who knows W* knows the neighborhood children's pet.  nearly not an ounce of mean-ness on this dog, who worries me, who befriends grown strangers, adores babies and lets little children touch forehead.  the neighbor took an umbrella to hit him, who bent low in sudden fear, unexpecting violence.  i took W* and apologized to the man, for the affectionate dog who trespassed, who expected warmth from all, who must have raised his fear.

astrology

1.  maybe it is in our nature to wait--though the word nature is a loaded word and subject to arguments.  maybe we have the tendency to wait.  to while away our time waiting for something by living.  in any case, maybe we all are waiting for Godot.  who can tell.  and who can say otherwise.  there are some things we know are coming.  the inevitable.  only we don't know the when.

2.  B* passed away.  the dog of some years.  kidney failed.  there is a sense of emptiness in the house.

3.  there are many things we know, but do not think about.  the end of the world, for example.

4.  JJW reads signs in the zodiac.  a feat he showed the first time in B*.  foggy night and the group was smoking and suddenly he said "you're a ----" from out the blue.  an uncanny ability to read the signs of people.  everyone's zodiacs were guessed right.  including a brief description of the you.  and what signs were compatible with you.  and what signs would be bad for you.  i wondered:  do you right away read the person in front of you; can you right away read the lover for you.

5.  JJW recently posted a photo smiling by the Mona Lisa.















 

the orange of stones

my mother was a practical woman.  or maybe there was not much room for dreaming at the time when she was young when she had me and my sister.  a lot of time was needed to keep alive.  i've heard we've moved into war-torn place/s although she and father never told stories about it.  i've heard about long walks and trucks, but always as a word or two like the brief back of a person before she or he closes a door.  i've never knocked.  it is not in the family to ask questions.  although one time, on a clear day when i visited mother and we were outside the house, sitting on white hand-welded metal chairs, she told a story without asking. why she left the union. it was very brief. it ended before anyone could join the table.  

ferris wheel

you've never been in a ferris wheel.  and so one night we stopped at a quaint carnival in a pocket in the city and i said let's take a ride.  you were scared, and i pretended not to.  not because i was afraid of heights, but because the carnival was old, all the rides, rusty.  risky.  not unlikely that any moment something would break, people would fall.  always a third world phenomenon.  but that night, we must have been feeling brave.  you held my hand as we stepped into a cage.  the cage was closed and it felt what pigeons must feel as the wheel began to be turned and the cage was raised.  there were sounds of old machinery, sore, arthritic, beyond retirement.  still, the wheel turned and turned, faster and faster, and we saw only glimpses of stars and parts of the city made strange.  and as you held my hand conquering your fear, i try not to think of metals rods breaking, the bones of the wheel collapsing under the weight of young lovers' dreams.

little dog

Little I* was nearly lost at weeks old.  Second and smaller of the two pups, he didn't get enough milk; not with a sibling like W*.  He had to be handfed to survive; had grown to be introverted, shy; and protective, all the time wary of strangers.  He had also learned to be cautious, also fearful, having nearly broken a leg at three months old after falling the steps for the first time.  The second time, he was accidentally pushed down the flight.  He isn't demonstrative, except during dinnertime; and not very affectionate, except at certain times.  He likes to stay at my feet, lay his head on the foam of my house slippers.  His brown eyes always with a little sadness I don't think I will ever know why (although he is most happy playing chase)

Because of circumstances, I* has been home-groomed.  Until last Sunday.  The wild coat had become beyond me.  Also the paws.  Last week, he limped a little; I didn't want it to be a case of tangled coat and nails.  Of course he didn't want to be at the vet's.  Didn't want to be left alone.  Didn't want to be in a kennel.  So I stayed with him in a corner, we waited for our turn, for nearly four hours.  All my work stood still.  He kept his end of the bargain and didn't bark at all the strangers streaming in and out; except, maybe, growl back at the dog who'd been growling.

Now, little I* is shaved like a different dog.  We arrived home and I watched him from afar, like someone else's.  He seems happier, of a better disposition; although I've spent the first few hours talking with him.  Telling him it's alright, he'll grow his coat in time.

Rainbow

At one time, he says, what does it matter to a little girl whose father i am sentencing in court that the trial judge is also a poet?



Rainbow


And do you wonder if the rainbow
Would reappear, now that you're here?
I saw it just minutes ago.
Rainbows are indescribable,
But this is no excuse for not
Writing about them in a poem,
Although I'd rather write about
My sadness that there was no one
To talk to when towards the sea
Silk filaments of various colors
Wove themselves into the sunlight,
And all I'd need to say was "Look!"
And then we would look at each other
Next to, as much as at, the rainbow.
There's nothing that I'll say that can
Picture that singular moment,
A sight that is closest to speech,
A word that disappears once spoken
Whether or not we are together.





by Simeon Dumdum Jr.

from Wideawake Field

Pennant
by Eliza Griswold


Love was the illusion,
the tent on the beach
with an ivory peak
that said you're never alone.
The tent is gone.
It takes you days to notice.
No pennant sings from the hill,
no slip of bright everlasting
pretends to be home.  The last night comes.
The bald dunes sleep.   The pilot fish leap
to bare their glistening skin.