Round eyes, round face, round cheeks, round head, round arms, round belly, round circles. round fingers, wrists, bracelets, fingernails, knuckles.
Round veins, too.
Notice the arms/hands to the left of the boy. Their limpness. It’s like their owner is sleeping. Or dead even.
Notice the arms and hands holding the boy. They remind me of my mother’s arms Continue reading
Is it okay to dig one out from the snow?
This one is 7 yrs. old.
BIRD IN THE HOUSE
We had a bird in the house one day last summer, a Ruby-throated hummingbird that darted in through the kitchen door just as we were finishing breakfast. He hovered momentarily above Quetzal’s oatmeal, darted up and bounced off our cookware, and then, in crazed, twisting flight, rebounded over and over against a corner window. There was an immediate breakdown in household order, of course, as each of us felt compelled to do something. We pushed back from the table and stood up, pointed, and Quetzal, in a wonderful display of five-year-old agility, went shrieking in several directions while simultaneously hiding under both arms. Continue reading
Everyone I know needs a body cast to get though tonight and all day tomorrow. And that includes me. But let’s change the subject.
…and so on Wednesday in good fall weather they moved all their furniture onto the sidewalk, signed it free, sweep the floors, locked the door, placed the key in the box with a note, a brief note, and then walked, arms free, down to the bus station. Which one, they said, looking up at the possibilities. I know, she said. The one going west. Okay, he said. And so theirs was the bus going west. And now trees slipped by and small goats running, kids painting a door, and later that afternoon a lake, a lake with no boats whatsoever, just blue water, blue water forever. And it seemed a sign, a possibility. It’s where we’re going, she said. Yes, he said. Moving blue water. And they pressed their noses to the window, and their knees touched, and the world was westward and blue. And later into the night now, the bus climbing, working, the two of them neither sure nor unsure, blessed nor unblessed, but bound together with hearts beating and the great unknown. And boughten sandwiches. One each to break together at first light…
For me, the foremost attraction of old-school woodcuts (early 20th c.) is their complete absence of car chases, explosions, copulation, dumb-ass mayhem, and post-modern cliches generally.