A Slow Coming Storm

A slow coming storm
over Texas,
swing open the doors
so they don’t rattle,
let it in that wind in the window
through our little home.

I heard about a father
works nearby to me
next building over
and last week
he forgot his baby
in the car seat
inside an SUV
parked on an asphalt lot
and the baby died
in the heat.

I heard Obama will speak tonight
on race and the black church.
He’s going describe
just what I seen
Mobile, Brooklyn
Covington, Houston
white-robed women
old man dancing down the aisle
threadbare red carpet
straight-backed pews
a white woman in the corner
an Indian kid in the back
and thunder in the pulpit.

We need the thunder and wind
the cool air, rain over curb
rain breaking through the seals
of our cars, rain
boxing the traffic lights
sogging our shoes
whipping the haughty towers,
oil-slicked rain draining
through gutter and bayou
choking every ditch
lifting anthills
drowning highway ramps
throwing cars over rooftops.

I want to wake up to a new city.

Crafty

We're going to Oakland for Christmas. Last travelling venture we have planned as a family...I will take my first solo trip, to a conference, in February. I have been preparing by pretending to be a goddess of craft (nobody is very fooled) by:

Making dehydrated fruit tree ornaments (I'll post a picture of them hanging, once they're on the tree in Oakland):



Making wrapping paper out of butcher's paper we had on hand (sadly we were too painted to get a good picture during the making of the paper):





And I dredged up the sewing class I took in high school, senior year, and which I probably went to less than a dozen times, in order to produce these malshaped socks:



The pink socks are made from a wool shawl Greendaddy and I purchased in India, our first trip there, together...the shawl was later ruined in the wash, but turned out to be perfect for weird socks. The blue socks are made out of the leftovers of a sari my mother-in-law's aunt and uncle gave me. The maroon velvet socks are made out of the bottom of a long, victorian looking dress my step-mother gave me a few years back, and that I never wore. I saved the top of the dress, hemmed it, and now it's a shirt I'll wear!

Vegetarianism and Candy

We're gearing into getting back to the blog.  There is just SO MUCH to write about that the thought of starting again is obliterating.  But today at the hospital we were compiling the tri-yearly newsletter and I came across these poems, perhaps the funniest in the world.  

Vegetarianism
by Micah, 9 years old

A chili dog is a dog.
Not meat.
So I eat that.
No hamburgers.
I'll eat a little bit of fried chicken.
I like sausage.
I hate bacon.
No pork at all.
I like ham. Not roast beef.
I stopped eating meat.
I don't eat meat at all.
But hot dogs, ham, and sausage.
Tacos ain't meat.

I get my special powers
by being a vegetarian.


Nine Ways of Looking at Candy

I.
I like to give away my candy
because I'm a giver.
Give! Give! Give!
That's all I do.
Don't ask why.

II.
Just eat it.
You just better be happy.
I got this candy for you
because I rode on an ambulance last night.

III.
The reason I don't eat candy
or chips or stuff like that
is that it gets stuck in your teeth.
The more you eat
the more it gets stuck.

IV.
On Halloween my cousin Tracie
laid all my candy on the table
and took all the Whoppers.
My dad like's Robin's eggs.
He likes Easter egg candy.

IV.
My mom buys all the candy
and I stay home
watching television.

V.
If you eat too much licorice
you're going to grow tall.
Not red, but tall.
Tall with a red head.
If you eat too much chocolate
you turn into a blueberry.

VI.
I'll tell you who likes candy:
Brian.
He stole some from Armani.
A long time ago.
It's true.

VII.
I don't care
who eats it.

VIII.
a mixing of
chocolate and fruit
a mixing of
vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry
crunchy

IX.
I'm going to pass the candy
around.

This world of dew

 
This world of dew
is only a world of dew -
and yet

Kyoshi Takahama