birthday party. IHOP. lots and lots of piano. books. hours of talking, deep and shallow. snuggling. sleeping in.
One of our favorite best friend things is to cut up things. And sometimes we write cut-up poems.
Here's how it happened: I took seven lines each from four random sources (Atonement, a New York Times article, my Jerusalem journal, and a collection of poems by Rilke) and attempted to compile them into a pleasant sounding, almost
coherent poem.
[Us at the Seattle Zoo, years ago] The title was chosen at random by miss Mary.
Her Multitudes Await
She hovered on the peripheries.
The stitches were clumsy and irregular;
Gandhi, Monroe, Sinatra, Kennedy.
These indignant thoughts afflicted her.
Sitting on the summit, daylight creeping in
Endless ribbons, inventing new bows
How was she to know they meant nothing in fact?
They were the best of the best in their field.
I was so nervous, tracking every single second of the trip
But it’s something I can’t give up on.
I have been a stranger in a strange land,
And I never, never want to stop singing that.
I’m becoming something of a mosaic expert,
For beauty is nothing but the onset of terror we’re still just able to bear.
The man and the woman part
He speaks only the few words necessary.
Then both look fearfully at the piano,
Two ambulances were parked at the side of the road, their back doors open.
For whosoever will save his life shall lose it,
So I’m not certain who’s crying out.
You could see the handwriting on the wall
After a protest in East Jerusalem.
And in the end you still had the spirit to celebrate.
Yes, the springtimes needed you.
In the middle of December,
There was no time to ask them where they were being sent
I can feel direct deliverance,
For staying put is nowhere.
creativity, blueberry pancakes, and lots of giggles,
Banana
[Us at the Washington coast, years ago]
