Claire Weiner
The Sun is on HiatusMoss the color of malachite weaves
its way up and under bark crevices of an old oak. Enchanting furry tendrils reach out as I walk past, my head burrowed against the January morning fog. Because it seems the sun has vanished for the foreseeable future, I am so lost in grayness I resist the curled invitations to dig deep, to engage to applaud the colors of the fog even as it surrounds me. The Smokers on My Way to WorkBanished, they stand apart,
alone or in pairs, huddled against imposing pines, figures restrained by an invisible fence of taboo. They lean in to protect their minuscule flames, in the scorch of August afternoons or the sting of February mornings, between April raindrops and against November gusts. Overpowered by cravings, they give in, again and again, deaf to the voices who love them. Waiting Roomhard to be neutral I
feel anything but, as I wait for the results of another scan. The first one found ground glass in a lung. I try to find somewhere to rest my gaze —the textured light brown carpet with coffee stains, the mass produced art on the wall, a forgotten blue windbreaker hanging on a hook, or the lively young receptionist with unnatural pink hair, but my eyes are as unsettled as my mind. |
The Moon SmilesTonight, in St. John the moon looks
delighted, but surely its pleasure is not just with our dinner of fish tacos, jasmine rice, mojitos. Or with the way the red pickup with the ancient fan belt screeches up a hill. Or at the sight of lone fireman who sits outside the station. Perhaps the moon is smiling at the Moravian church listed in the National Register of Historic Places. Or because of the live music from the joint down the street. Or at the family of grazing donkeys. How about the hand painted sign “Pot Luck on Tuesday”? Who knows why the moon is smiling tonight? Is it smiling in camps in Kenya, Jordan, South Sudan, Tanzania, Ethiopia, Pakistan? Is there a smile in Aleppo, Raqqa, Damascus? Or on the streets of Paris, Jerusalem, New York, Boston, Brussels, Lahore, San Bernadino? Is it smiling at the third grade boy in North Dakota whose only true meal is school lunch? Or at his grandmother who chooses between food and hypertension? What about fifteen year old Tanya who hides from her stepfather? Or at the disheveled man on the street corner desperate to tell anyone who walks by, “ You too can be saved." If you know why the moon is smiling at us tonight, please tell me, as I think it is because we simply got lucky. Summer Haikuwelcome summertime
watermelon colored toes painted by strangers |