Market: Spring 2008

It's Friday. That means John will give me a Wendy Jo cookie and tell me a story about his granddaughters, one I've most likely heard before. Jim will buy unsalted cashews quietly, smiling. Fernando will give me an apple and teach me a word of Spanish. Lisa will float into the building, beautiful, joyful. Mike and Stellar will make ordinary things extraordinarily funny. On this particular Friday, Tom will wear the brightest yellow pants. Ever. And Skip...oh, Skip. He will fill our arms with hugs and our ears with exuberant kisses.

I love this place, this give and take, this interaction with such brilliant humanity. I love the sound of apples dropping into my cloth bag, of familiar voices asking familiar questions. I love watching shoppers awkwardly balance produce, milk jugs, flowers, money. I love Earl's whiteboard poetry, and the slow, meaningful way Edie places potatoes in my hands. I love the smell of freshly ground peanut butter, of brewing coffee, of earth, of verdant soil. It infiltrates the air of this place.

I take it all in with gulping breaths--a desperate attempt to preserve it within me. I want these sights, sounds, tastes, smells to settle into my lungs, my belly, my bones. I want them to fly with me across the world. I don't want to lose them. If I must leave, at least let me remember these small, familiar joys.

Kathmandu Moon I&II/Mirth

Kathmandu Moon I

The waning moon beckons
The dog howling
The people toiling
The night grows
Inside my heart.

Kathmandu Moon II

It is here tonight
Or perhaps I am here
Tonight

The end of another cycle
The moon waxing full
Of secrets, and ready
To deliver them

I shudder and sigh tonight
I am here
Regaining consciousness
Ready to deliver
My well-kept mysteries

Mirth

There are small mirths:

The first birdsong
The magic of wine
The making of love
The fragrance of earth
The golden skin of summer

Basket Casket/Nameless

Basket Casket

But my life will not all fit into one basket!
Arms and legs and hair
And yes, pieces of my heart will hang out irreverently
Drop all over the place

I cannot hope to be contained.
I simply will not be squeezed in, held down,
Broken in places, just to fit

Nameless

This body quakes, aches
For nameless things
It yearns for what...what are these
Shapeless, perfect, floating
Things

This brain clouds over
Gets thick & heavy on my neck
So full of unusable words
Tiny ideas, tidbits of what...what are these
Things, legion, myriad

This heart thrums, drums out
Of rhythm, making
Illegitimate music, cacophonous melodies
That make my ears vibrate
And turn cold and ache
For so many, too many
Nameless Things.