- Until time years no longer
- Imagination of wonder
- Emerge in to this
- Exotic flavor for life
- This is there very moment
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Fade blue harbor
Over looking from the south winds
Warm love into my heart
Red glaze- through wonder
Fear some gods
The make up of statures
This was on the airport conveyor belt,
while my luggage strolled
New York, 2004
Friday, November 12, 2010
On Wednesday Paul would meet his friend Kit at the Amsterdam Espresso, where coffee refills are free. Kit was tall with brown curly hair, wild like lightening. He wore cargo pants and an army green flannel He never spoke in my presence. Kit used to be an artist, a sculptor,but he got struck by lightning and lost his ability to create with his hands. He liked to host gallery open houses and invite wineries to hold samplings, bringing more people in. This way he squeezed the most out of the event while boosting sales.
On Saturday Paul and Kit's favorite outing besides getting coffee is getting free food. Their favorite place to hang is Whole Foods. They enjoy going there for the free food samples the store offers. When Kit goes to Whole Foods he carries a crystal cylinder mug and sips tea. He moseys around the store and talks to the staff while sampling food. Paul by his side. But sampling free food occasionally is not enough for Paul and Kit. Their urges for free food become an adrenaline rush, an addiction, that they are unable to curb. It has become an everyday ritual. They hide themselves, behind support beams, pressed up as flat as can be, paper plates hidden in Kit's cargo pants. Just a few strides away from each other, clutching their plates, slowly creeping out with one foot. They make sure that nobody sees them. Each take turns dashing over to fill up their plates with free food. After each outing they returned to their hideout. Now I only see Paul around town alone. He visits all the coffee houses, but I don't know what happen to Kit.
Olive Garden, Easter Sunday afternoon. My 82 year old grandma is taking the family out to lunch. The family is in the lobby waiting to be seated. My brother is tall and thin like a bean pole, the name everybody calls him. His scraggly dirty blond hair hangs loosely around his shoulders. He is in his usual all black garb, which is a long sleeve hoodie that has been worn past it due date. The edging around the cuffing has torn and frayed and there are holes everywhere. Neither he nor his clothes have been washed in months. Instead of getting new pants, he adds another patch to the collage. This time the tear is in the center of his pants, the crotch.
With his legs spread wide open, sitting on the bench in the lobby; with a red piece of leather in one hand and sewing needle threaded with dental floss in the other, my bother begins to sew. Being completely mortified by my brother, I burst out “What are you doing? “ Com’ on Jeannine, everybody has a crotch. Don’t you have a crotch.? He says. He is undisturbed by what he is doing, not caring what anyone else thinks. It's Easter Sunday and I can not believe he is my twin.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
In a store front, a women gets push down to the ground and beaten, by a man. Know one does a thing and this event goes unnoticed. Your heart races. Standing there frozen, shocked and afraid, you want to take action, but You're are in a country
where you don't know your rights, your a women, and in this country, you might not have rights.
Every time I see you. Your wallet flips open to a picture of your son. You don't know, that I know who he is. I want to ask, is he still in jail?