weekly muse...
volume 1, issue 16 | 2022-10-12
poetry
dog’s-eye view
sleeping on the floor in front of the fan in the land of feet today i see what you see if i had a tail i’d shake it too
-- from homebound
my comet
each year he takes from me what is mine, my identity and leaves behind a tail of dust and ice catching the light one day he’ll melt and let my orbit fade into the night in empty space, the longest distance between two points
-- from along the way
memory
what was i saying? between the time of forgetting and remembering i can forget again and again what was i saying?
-- from everything rhymes
crab apple tree
-- for basho, master teacher – blossoming – suddenly you come and go with the first gusts of spring how do you grow anything? bees arrive with little notice swarming gently swaying fields of cotton down delicate petals of soft white migrant workers harvesting fragrant sacks of yellow grain – ripening – bees blown off with the wind your glory strewn on fresh mowed lawn, lengthening days give way to cooling nights in stretching summer yawn, fruits hang like silent bells, flocks of noisy birds chatter in thick branches laden with red and green – recovering – dry leaves depart without remorse, birds abandon you to chilling blasts of arctic wind your buried roots shut down beneath the frozen ground that frames your naked form winter snow drapes on thin bare limbs like a linen pall sewn of fallen white bloom
-- from lives of the poets
evening sky
pink clouds piling up like smoke in a blue gray sky as if the world is about to explode or already has another day -- from another day
short stories
wedding plans
…continued
November 1970, No Turning Back
Ren and Bob walked the final two miles, from the Garden State Parkway exit where someone dropped them off, to her parents' home on the Jersey shore. They had hitchhiked there together from Buffalo, where they both went to college. It was the first time Ren's parents would meet Bob, who had only come into her life a few weeks before. Her parents had just dropped her off at school less than three months ago.
They greeted him at the door with forced effusion. “Come in!” A stiff smile cracked their plasticized faces. “It's so good to meet you!” They couldn't have been more disappointed in what they saw.
Bob was pencil thin. His gaunt mien extended along the full length of his tall frame on up to his bony face, which bore a mark of hunger for far more than food. His hair was over his collar. His short fuzzy beard had the appearance of misplaced pubic hair, escaped from his crotch and climbed up his sapling trunk and now clinging to the smooth skin of his drawn face. He was a philosophy major. A gentile.
Renae's father, Larry, had changed his last name from the Hebrew surname, “Kohen,” to the Anglicized version, “Keane,” during the McCarthy era. He had a good job with the defense department, managing contracts for U2 spy plane equipment. They were Jewish by ethnic origin alone, not by religious practice. So, what did it matter? They were outspoken liberals, opposed to the war in Vietnam, and members of the Society for Ethical Culture. Still, when it came to their daughter, they wanted a man who could support and protect her. Preferably, a member of the tribe.
On the second day of their visit, Larry called Bob into the back yard to help him rebuild some folding lawn chairs. Larry showed Bob how to weave the green and white plaid ribbons of plastic replacement thatch and wrap their ends in tight loops around the tubular aluminum frames. He asked about Bob's views on non-violence. About Bob's career plans. About his thoughts on marriage.
“When she is older and the time is right, I want Renae to have as rich a marriage as Sharon and I enjoy.” Larry told him.
Bob answered with irksome confidence. “We don't believe in legalized marriage. It's just a piece of paper. We are already married spiritually.”
Larry's face flushed red with pent anger as he sneered between tightened lips. “I know how it is with you young guys. You come along with nothing but heat in your pants and that's all you think about.”
Bob calmly refuted him. “No. It's not about sex. It's a decision. A spiritual commitment.” Larry walked off into the house in a silent rage, leaving Bob alone with the lawn chairs, which he dutifully kept weaving.
An hour later, they summoned Bob to a family meeting in the living room. The whole clan was gathered in front of the fireplace to face off Bob. They were sending him packing in the morning. “Renae needs time alone with her family to sort things out.”
Even she agreed with them. Seeming like a reluctant convert to some family cult. Held barely in sway by the transitory power of the group mass.
Later that afternoon, Ren and Bob walked down the long street leading from her house to the ocean shore. They saw potted plants, furniture, wall coverings, television sets, and other accretions of adult prosperity in the windows of the well-kept houses along the way. They stopped under an old elm tree and talked.
“Are you sure this is what you want? We're supposed to be together forever.”
“I just can't think right now. They're so upset. My father said this almost killed him.” The clear window panes of her beautiful bright blue eyes grew dark as she drew the shades against his further view. It struck him then that he did not know what she would do. She could choose to leave him. The thought left him utterly bereft. Eased only by the comfort of her sweet presence with him here and now.
The next morning, Bob rode quietly in the passenger seat of the Keane family station wagon headed north on the Garden State Parkway, with Larry at the wheel. Bob felt a numbness gnawing in his chest. Wondering what Ren would do.
“Renae can't make these decisions for herself. She is still a child.”
“No. She is a woman. And she will make her own choice.”
Larry could only shake his head in bewilderment at the brash determination of this young man. He dropped him off at the next oasis. Sure he had seen the last of him.
The following Monday night, Ren came over to the little 2-bedroom carriage house that Bob shared with another student. She had just come in on the bus.
“They told me I could never see you again. That I couldn't even talk to you, or they would come and bring me back home.”
Bob hugged her head to his chest. So grateful she had chosen him.
They were married within the week. The marriage took place in a Unitarian church. One of Bob's faculty advisers who was part of the campus ministry performed the ceremony. A small handful of friends were in attendance. With the bride and groom, they all hitchhiked downtown to the church.
The entire wedding party was decked out in blue jeans and flannel shirts. A popular theme in those days. Ren and Bob wrote the wedding vows themselves, with passages from the Bhagavad-Gita and the Bible. “Therefore shall the man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife.” Neither of them noticed there was no such passage about the woman leaving her father and mother, which would have been more appropriate in their case. All scripture was written by men.
-- to be continued...
-- from signs & wonders
lucy (losing the light)
…continued
I flung the Occupational Outlook into the back seat, next to my discarded Camelot smock, a neatly stacked pile of clean tablecloths for the church, and my fake leather camera bag.
Mr. Davidson was still smiling. “Where to?”
“The supermarket.”
“Ah.” He intoned. “The modern marketplace. Commerce without forum.”
“Whatever.” I was becoming more relaxed around him. “What’s this about retiring?”
He paused. “What’s this about accounting?” His eyebrows arched.
“I asked you first.”
He nodded in capitulation. “This fall is my last semester.” He turned and looked out his window wistfully, as we drove past an open field and stand of trees that was now converted to an exercise park for dogs. “Then, I am no longer a teacher.”
“So, you’ll just focus on your own work then?” I tried to cheer him up. “After that.”
He glanced at me and then stared at the dashboard. “My work,” his distant gaze penetrated the gray plastic panel, “is to see, to help people learn how to see.”
His tone was ominous, so I left him to his thoughts. Gray clouds began smudging the horizon far to the north. A late summer storm, we could use the rain.
-- to be continued...
-- from summer’s end
microfiction | a history of the world
…continued
actor (the unmasking)
The audience held me in their hushed gasp. I paused. Stiff as a wooden mask. Fluid as a silk robe. Would he do it? One thought gripped their breath.
My hand reached up. Dreadful. Tense. Slowly. Lifting the mask.
It showed a face. Painted. White. Exactly like the mask.
The wall collapsed. Tumbling laughs. Butterflies poured from my lips. Fluttering over their heads. The theater would never be the same after this.
-- to be continued…
-- from a history of the world