sweet and cinnamony-ginger spice tea
scents tendriling in the air and drifting
up and out of my studio
where i pour small steaming batches
into the lid/cup of my thermos
the tiny white dog with
the highest-pitched voice
barking at me from the other side
of the chainlink fence
as i sidewalk my way in the
clear-sky-sun down siringo road
singing tori’s version of
home on the range

how i come upon a long strip of a park
weirdly positioned low and long as if
the concrete path was once a river
and how i consider walking it
but want to stay up
where the sun is
(the sign at either end of this park reading:
marcel marc brandt park)
holly the crepe expert
at the stove inviting us to take
turns grabbing the pan by its handle
and giving the hot crepe a flip

that’s another thing on my profane list
(filed under ‘one-time-use’) i say of

the lanyard and plastic sleeve attached
the ting! ting! cling clang! of the flute glasses
with bubbles rising in them
as we lightly tap them to each others’
in honor of jessica, the millenial, the intern,
the baker and sculptor and writer

inky sky, clear moon, bright handful
of stars as seen through the plate glass
looking out from the north end of the courtyard
in the late journey from studio
to bathroom and back again
crossing off deadlines with 
bight colored markers


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s