First of all, please listen to the soothing rhythms of this great live band, “The Malcolm Reynolds Trio: http://www.youtube.com/user/JADickson7#p/u/0/Np4p6xPV_aM. I’m instantly swept into these last days of August…dancing with a loved one on a patio after a smoothie, and hearing the beautiful piano-guitar-trumpet arrangement in front of me. I think you’ll imagine, just as captured.
“The Baby Is Eating My Pearls: Visiting Friends in the South”
Some tiny mouths bristle cold breath,
others puff warm air
like a small, finishing balloon.
Hayden enclosed a favorite necklace,
smooth baby lips
covering the shape of the ivory.
His hands were stationary on my knees,
taking in the taste of cradled newness.
Mississipppi country was an emerald necklace,
and bonfires making me nervous.
And here a solid toddler approaches,
chewing his consolation
with molecular molars and grace.
The electric shock of motherhood
jostles this chest
as he rolls my heart in those teeth.
The crumpled blue morning
refurbished in slate-ivory
and was building a freeze over chisled grass,
Sunday music, toes curled, heart pacing
and something was tracing my sheer curtains
desperately like an imagined paint
drawing bush and sparrow shapes
awakening routine rush.
It bore a gray-hued craziness:
sliding leg against linen
prodding sleep remnants,
never getting buxom response
from the remnants slipping delicately
and lost into my raw sting of emotion
that faith lost in pragmatic sheets,
tangled and apart.
Afternoon dips below pale aridity,
mimicking the stump of heart
left for dead by evil
and bright vomit of depression
choking what’s ripe for confessional
Gray liberates pugnacious red.