nickrassi
I taught my mother to use a hula hoop. She hadn't ever tried it, but managed to get second place in a competition on her first try. Some people said it was beginners luck, but I know it was my excellent coaching.
Worms oozed from the sponged earth and moaned
bellowing
as the sun slid itself overhead
burning
the helpless, crisped squirmers.
The weather today reminded me of fried potatoes.
Fried til it was white, sparkling.
Whipping, spilling
Burning my skin.
Iced. Frozen.
Crisped.
I used to live across the street from a railroad. There were thousands of rocks that lined the sides. Once, I found something I thought was treasure. It had to be a carved Native American decoration. To my chagrin, my father said, "No, Nick, that's a trilobite." In my disappointment, I threw it as far as I could into the woods.
After me comes the (flood)
overwhelming sense
of hope
of joy
of peace
Before comes the wait
the Advent.
White.
From end to end like a panorama
of hung, frozen bedsheets over
fields that were once alive.
I bought my mother a nightgown for Christmas when I was young. I couldn't keep the secret for longer than three days. I'm the same today as I was then; I can't keep nightgowns hidden for long.
Platinum may be prettier or more perfect, but I'll take my silver over her any day.
Christmastime seems to make people feel like they deserve the big screen televisions, the iPhones, the nonsense. What people really deserve, though, is fresh drinking water. Food on the table. A bed to sleep in. Someone to love them.
I've no choice under the rules
of winter.
I play my cards how I may,
but not even a spade
could dig me out of the
mounds
of snow.
buried.