August 2003

A Sad Thing Returning home, she found a sad thing had happened. Some smoke still lingered; story-colored wisps floated benignly out of the roof, which was caved-in and blackened. She attempted dismay, remembering the refuge she had taken under roof and in contents. But really, she wishes she could have seen the blaze, pretended to hear the cries of a thousand characters burned from out their covers. It was a sad thing, indeed, but everyone likes to watch a fire. ____________________________________________________________ At three in the morning He drove me to speculation, to the ball fields. "You need a vacation," was spoken quietly in the minivan; I set down my chocolates. The silvered light left him in his usual shadows, and I took my vacation. Rachmaninoff on the radio, I tried to close my eyes and "Relax." The smile wouldn't leave my face, and I could only close the eye hidden from the bright moon and the water tower. He started the engine sometime later and drove me home, one eye to the road, the other on my stiff grin. ____________________________________________________________ Rhythm beads' wooden raining matched by her sensible pumps cadence of prayer-song, steps toward unity interrupted by the clumsy voice of the man to her left mission's mantra paused she glances to Iniko on the Djembe but he just sings with the clumsy man, his family