as in window.
Seen from inside
& out. Through,
too. Through
to what?
Or whom?
Similar to those
questions
which carrots
ask of the soup
pan. Or greens
to a skillet.
& pen to poem.
All & always
off to the side.
& deliciously
fragrant.
Two poets over a tuna sandwich, heavy with mayo, work on a collage. Hostess poet cuts up very small pieces of type from a periodical, while poet # 2 attempts to explain her work to herself. The hours pass. From Stirrup of 10/6/10 (appearing in Poetry Bites, written at the Gallery Cafe in SF in a very small notebook--line lengths determined by the width of the page--), SG studies lines and phrases, tries to tie them to memories. associations, random flings of the mind as words richocheted off the walls of the small cafe. Metacognition? Hard to say.
At KF's Table
3. She exits, not knowing fortune, not a bit like the boat, the stick, that clamshell we played with
Memory 246: When we were vacationing in Nantucket we caught shellfish fresh from the ocean and Mom cooked them, cleaned them, served them. My sisters and I played with the shells.My dad kept bumping his head on the doorways and beams of the low ceilings of the old cottage. I still like beaches and seafood.
Bridge they cross
ReplyDeleteTwo poets over a tuna sandwich, heavy with mayo, work on a collage. Hostess poet cuts up very small pieces of type from a periodical, while poet # 2 attempts to explain her work to herself. The hours pass. From Stirrup of 10/6/10 (appearing in Poetry Bites, written at the Gallery Cafe in SF in a very small notebook--line lengths determined by the width of the page--), SG studies lines and phrases, tries to tie them to memories. associations, random flings of the mind as words richocheted off the walls of the small cafe. Metacognition? Hard to say.
At KF's Table
3. She exits, not
knowing fortune,
not a bit like the
boat, the stick,
that clamshell
we played with
Memory 246: When we were vacationing in Nantucket we caught shellfish fresh from the ocean and Mom cooked them, cleaned them, served them. My sisters and I played with the shells.My dad kept bumping his head on the doorways and beams of the low ceilings of the old cottage. I still like beaches and seafood.
(circular primes series 397)