Saturday, August 30, 2008

shocked and awed

"I hope they kill him."
This is what my neighbor said about Obama.
"Don't say that. Why would you say that?" I say, stunned.
She handed me some tomatoes. We were standing in her garden.
"Why not? I hope they do."

I would expect, say, a white separatist man from Idaho to say this. Or someone who proudly flies the Confederate flag.

But we, my neighbor and I, live in inner-city Cleveland. We are homeowners, so theoretically we chose to live where we do. And this woman was/is a Hillary supporter. I don't expect all people to love Obama, or Biden, or democrats, or black folk. I don't expect hardly anyone to agree on anything anymore.

But I still believe words have power. That when something is said, it becomes manifest in some small way. Even if one thinks about--or hopes for--assassination, don't speak it. Not here. Not around me.

Those tomatoes she gave me? Outside on a shelf. Uneaten.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Sunday, August 17, 2008

not thinking

just staring. eating. objects. black walnuts taste like mushrooms. blue-infused goat cheese. vintage wine tomato my brother grew. blueberries. blueberries. not combining. not cooking. watching water. not poeming. listening to water. water. weird word for lovely thing, water. waiter. waiting for something. wearing blue and wading. knife that slices tomato, spreads the cheese, also severs crabgrass. at the root. summer slowly saying something. swaying heads of fennel. seed me they say. serve me up in the blue chair on the second floor porch. perch. there. bluejay branch. swerve. summer swerving just out of reach.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

water spout?

Excellent storm came in over the lake last night. Much rotation in the sky, but no water spouts. Soon, I hope. Instead, my neighbor's big party tent popped its stakes and took flight, landing upside down in my garden looking like a carnival version of Kafka's cockroach.

Friends' garden party turned into a garage party last night--reminding me of childhood days in the suburbs, hanging out in neighbor's garages, drinking Little Toms and bothering our parents.

It's a cliche, but what's better than good food and good friends?