Skip to main content
I woke up and I wasn't yet sure
if it was a dream or no
I was on the sidewalk of a main street
and the house that was facing me
was in the Cape Cod style
Image result for cape cod style house with wrap around porch
the construction: ship lap
and it was pained white
as was the gapped picket fence
Image result for white picket fence house
grinning like an English girl
Image result for gap toothed girl
I used to know
there was the narrowest strip of garden
between the wrap around veranda and the fence
and in it were growing hollyhocks and sunflowers
Image result for hollyhocks
and sweetpeas
in another life it would have been
somebody's grandmother's house
but now it was a dentist's office
without parking in the rear

crickets were singing under the porch
or maybe it was the hydro wires
humming
we were told about that in the old days
I don't think anybody had ever seen a cricket
but a lady I know said the cricket
is her totem
and the ant and the frog her spirit helpers
and a teddy to bear witness
and God knows what taboo
kept her from singing
but her wavy brown hair
made a storm on a her brow
when you talked
or looked at her too closely
and her eyes fixed and darted
when she was worried
or suspected a stare

when a car went past
the spell broke
and I knew it had been a dream
the house was still there
but the paint on the fence
was chipped and peeled
revealing some 40s green underneath
and the deck was in disrepair
and the windows were broken
and boarded
and there was an old tire
on top of the hollyhocks
that nevertheless reached into the air
the purple ones holding their ruffled heads
high
Related image
as another car went past
and I checked my watch
and rushed to my appointment
with a destiny
that neither screamed nor mocked.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Of course she's not a true red

As the parent of a "ginger", and having red heads on both sides of the family, and having married into two Irish families, I know first hand that ginger covers the whole spectrum from strawberry blonde (to my way of thinking a classic ginger!), to orange (carrot tops), to a real rust red (what my father in law would call a true red).  When Pat Todkill first set eyes on his granddaughter, he remarked, "Of course, she's not a true red".  For one thing, Emily the Elder lacked freckles on her face and upper body.  For another, she really was and is a strawberry blonde. A further observation.  Even people with the raven blackest hair have rust red lights--caveman red, soot covered ochre if you like.  Woolly mammoth red.  Sometimes it takes just the right light to pick out the smoldering ember, but beard and eyebrows tend to incorporate the tell tale ginger strain, like chili pepper in a spice jar of mixed pepper corns. And, of course, brunette...

I double dog dare ya

I double dog dare ya to repeat the story you heard in 3 Trees the shop of Indian incense and beeswax crayons from Germany perhaps a source for Waldorf or Montessori Nepali filigree or Balinese woven silver and semi-precious gems cut loose dresses and butterfly pants from Indonesia or somewhere similarly hot and breezy and yoga cushions maybe made locally and unmentionable remarks harder to tell than listen to I think it was a tall woman of subcontinent ancestry who was trying on bras and dresses and saying she was generally pleased at the selection and the clerk who replied yeah who knew Asian women have boobs and height and take up space and commisserated with her customer who mentioned she didn't think men looked for a mirror to see how their bum looks before deciding and buying down the risk she knowingly showed to me I was there for the sale half price and no tax the gift they give 3 times a year to generate so...
The city mover beat me to the chicory this evening maybe if I had passed by earlier I could have caught a glimpse of them but they will rise Phoenix like from the close cropped pile of grass and weed and present their brash and uneven beauty once again before the need for carpet and trimming loops of magic made by subterranean rug weavers is once again mandated and duly executed by the city crew in the burnt orange cabs of their ride along mowers browning the backs of their hands and letting the heat weather beat their faces to match the cabs and fulfill some unspoken contract between landscaping and maintenance and the gods of Chance Fortune as ever favouring the bold there will be other routs of the mover before the Summer is done and more rain hopefully if I can contain the fear of thunderheads building and more returns of visible biodiversity Nature never surrenders unconditionally but like a lover choosing her battl...