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from the August, 1999, workshop:
His Left Hand
His left hand
a legacy of
memorable fights
starting in the
3rd grade
over which way
to slant the paper
how to write
how to hold a pen
going on and on
from right handed
butter knives
scissors
circular saws
to mouse pads and
coffee cups
with their decorations on the
wrong side
I heard somewhere
that we are all
born right handed
only some of us
get over it.
Hiroshima
August flowers
struggleing against
the foggy wind
to show their
true colors
The eyes of
passerbys
seeing NOW
forgetting
then
Memories that
live in the pain
of the past
in darkness
forgetting
to bring peace
Ice Water & Blackberries
In the dry California summers
of my youth
I wandered
over piles of
river rocks
radiating in perpendicular
lines from the cold
rushing waters of
Mocasin creek
where blackberries grew
in plentitude
The round rock piles
dry and old and grey
the result of gold miners
frantic search for
nuggets from the mother lode
which I only found out about later
At the time
the mother load
was a can full
of blackberries
and the reward was
a slice of pie
the size of which varied
inversely
with the purple stains
on my tongue.
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