Stone Age HAA The Holy MAA

Stone Age HAA The Holy MAA

Writing - Noise - Magic

Monday, May 26, 2014


There was a man standing in the screen doorway. Or maybe it was the dirt made it look that way. Anyway, someone was murderously hungry for the wrapped sandwich on the counter. Someone asked if it was dog meat and everyone could smell it. Then forever all meat smelled like dog. At least to the littlest one: a girl of four overhearing everything.

And her aunt was telling about the near-death experience: all white and there were trees cutting through the white and voices up close in her ear like this, of all the ancestors from Kansas and Arizona. All at once. And the aunt held up the dog meat sandwich wrapped and the girl wondered how everything could be white but not the trees and where do they go.

Where do the trees go after life? Or do they just grow. Do trees reach deeper into the ground and higher into the sky and can we tell how old everything is by looking at trees?

Or dust: our hands and the linoleum and everything are made up of smallest pieces like dust, like hairs, smallest pieces moving but we can’t see them. Even the trees are made up of this dust, these tiniest trees.

The screen door slammed on the shadow man. The aunt stepped outside and unwrapped her dinner and no one seemed terrified, least of all the dogs.

Monday, May 12, 2014


Thick and sudden.
An almost herb but
The Glass Menagerie
Phoenix, a moment just outside the Heard 
Museum of American 
Indian Art and History.

Just because of May.
Wonder that wrinkled grass and clovers
tapered not
cut but just under feet of snow---
my baby claws at them and the Earth doesn't mind
doesn't moan

just stands.

Oil. Pads of feet touch the wooden floor

the freezer banks at my first job 21 years ago
---banana ice cream hairspray---
and Lilac Wine groping in the dark bathroom
---new carpet air conditioning---
beauty school oil massage deep into knuckles, chatting 
away like there's no skin, bones in our hands

AHH---too much midwestern fever
screaming birds wow it's still dawn
because of May.

Share something from a can---
the dresser facing us from the back of the pick-up has a face etched---
pass the drink back and forth
manic laze---

---there was a half dream
while the baby was talking one hand
to the other hand---micro-waving fingers 
make expressive faces
and her voice low and serious---deedle deedle-torh
and I heard a half dream about a girl's 
hell being forever in the mill.

Thick and sudden May---
forever mill---
herbs in our bones
skins in our hands.