Tending To Orbit
07 October 2003 - 8:22 a.m.
New town, new house, no TV, lots of books and coffee, and still no update.
I'll let poet Ralph Angel take it from here and I'll return shortly.
Headlights Trail Away
and go on surprising. It happens.
Everything. A couple of suitcases
falling from a fourth-story apartment-
fertilize the African violets
and there you have it, new slippers
in the hallway- the relentless, invisiable
moon of my heart, hugging its orbit.
Yes, itís raining,
or about to. Black splotches
on the sidewalk. Gum wrappers
in a gutter stream. I feel Iíve
changed so many times in the last
fifteen seconds that the cold
must belong to the fishwomanís
darker eye, sparrows in the hollow
of a traffic light.
All else is habit, like believing
youíre right, youíre a decent, good person.
itís the same street, no matter
what unches are thrown, the same
signs. A house of cards
with a barber stropping the razor
and the janitor jangling keys,
with packages to wrap, the several breezes.
There is the faintest trace of basil
on the breath of the waitress.
it tickles, that taste.
and what can you do?
Such a pleasure to be here.
The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver
last five revolutions
- - 05 April 2004
sunsets - 18 February 2004
Happy V Day - 14 February 2004
butterfly shadow - 12 February 2004
hello - 07 October 2003
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