I remember some years ago when I decided to go downtown, find a nice bar or pub and have a drink. (more…)
Archive for the ‘Naomi’ Category
One night downtown.
Sunday, March 15th, 2009I got them at the drugstore
Saturday, March 14th, 2009Rain drips from my nose
and lands on my toes
which are very exposed
in these flip flops.
The watery puddle
is dreadfully muddled
like yesterday’s cuddle
with a stranger.
The Boy and the Tiger
Saturday, March 14th, 2009The sunlight sharply defined the uneven edges of the glass that still clung to the sides of the window frame. Odd curves and jagged points. The glass that had fallen to the cement floor lay in shadow, cold and still. Some pieces were the size of small plates, some, like the piece the boy pulled from the back of his wrist, were no larger than coins. A strange currency. He let the small shard fall to the floor where it clinked against cement and fellow glass. (more…)
Shropshire
Wednesday, March 11th, 2009I went to the Fair not too long ago, just looking for some kettle-corn induced excitement. There’s something nice and homey about fairs that I can’t quite put my finger on. It might be the smell of hot dogs being grilled at every other booth. Or it might be the mobile homes that are pulled up along the outskirts of the fairgrounds, their doors open and their insides spilling out into the grass. Whatever it is, I dove into the crowd with a heady anticipation of good times.
This is how I see history.
Tuesday, March 10th, 2009It is a firm rock, an immovable mountain, that grows over time, that has a face that is visible to any who might wish to turn their heads and look, and it is marked with crevices and caves and shadowy areas that will never be seen or known, despite the amount of gazing one might do. Historians actually climb the mountain, and they see some shadowy things, and might shout down to the rest of us the discovery of a cave or two, or even three, but they will never see all of them, nor completely explore even one. But they point certain nooks out to the gazers or other historians, mark the location of particular caves, and have favorite places where they visit again and again. I am a gazer. I scavenge occasionally near the bottom of the mountain, and some day I might even begin to climb. The Russian History cave has been pointed out to me, and I would like to visit it someday.
But moralities and isms don’t apply to the mountain. They are on it, to be sure. There is a moralities cave: it is very winding and dark and damp and twists around many corners and has more paths inside than one can count. It looks much like the isms cave. But the morality is restricted to its cave, it does not come out at night to torture or tempt other caves or crannies. It does not lay itself down on top of ancient Greek History and declare that it is wrong that mostly it is only the men that are visible to the gazers, and not the women. The women are still there, they are just in shadow. Everything that has ever been is there, somewhere, on the mountain. Whether or not these things are visible to those who watch from below or who climb and explore does not change the fact of their existence.
