Little Things

 

Walking to the river is my quotidian proclimation

A morning with flashes of sharp breeze and exaggerated cloud formations

A fugitive or a caged bird

Life, a quilt floating in time, fertile and vulnerable

Always lacking in certainty

Piecing  parcels together fuels the effort

Ages I scale are experiences of different personalities

Each stage has its own expressions and demands:

Writing, cooking, doing laundry—little  things, mundane and sacred

The progression, a knowing like I felt everything

Fishemen, artists, lactating mothers, even geniuses

Want to live a real life of home.

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Listening

Sometime I am blinded of what I know

Prevents me from listening

At the end of the tunnel, I hope, is another way

And in the ocean, after I hoist a sail

The wind will pick up

And carry me to a wider reality.

 

I start putting words in my pocket

The birds start picking and scatter them

Some fall on front yards, others on the river

Fish snatch the floating words

The fishermen jump with surprise

People come out of their doors and greet me 

I feel embarrassed, I answer with greetings

I’m thankful, their dogs like me

Tomorrow I will take a basketful of words to the Farmer’s Market 

I will sit next to the mushroom grower

She tells stories about creatures in the forest

I will be a good listener.

Whistle

I am walking to the river.

Sometimes I whistle when I walk Inviting the breeze to come.

 

The birds whistle to each other.

They hide within the branches of the trees when it rain.

Their wings become heavy when wet.

 

Some places flood when it rains.

Places next to a river.

Houses along a river.

Even after repeated floods people don’t want leave.

 

Some mountains have frequent fires.

People who live there also don’t want to move to another plane.

 

Some people have perseverance.

They have courage to resist.

 

The cool breeze comes.

I continue my walk.

Sometimes I think of you. I wonder of what you are doing.

 

I will see you on Thursday.

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note:Color my heart with cookies.

A moment of each day

Thud, thud, the thudding sound 

of a luggage sliding Inside the car’s  trunk, 

a car driving fast the curves

that’s how my head spins

when I clean the sink of unfulfilled writing promises

I will try again

a new concept of a New Year

to tell a moment of each day

a gathered thought, an instant click of a camera 

not a memorized notion of what a day should be,

maybe a spark of enchantment.

Will it make the day meaningful?

Or trivial?

But questions do not meant to be answered

only understood.

I will begin today.

Note: Like a mantra I walk to the river today. The day is spring-like low 60’s, blue sky, flowers and acacia trees are blooming.

The photos from my mobile phone capture the moment. 

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