chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

mythically yours…

found poem: HOW

found poem: bored

found poem: from light

gray morning poem

found poem: mine

found poem: found

found poem: I’ve been

found poem: autumn

found poem: mud

Monday, Monday…

Wedgwood Ale HouseSo, if you should find yourself at a loss for what to do on the evening of Monday, October 13, 2014, do stop by Seattle’s Wedgwood Ale House and have a listen to Easy Speak Seattle.
Better yet, bring a few poems to share at the open mic (up to five minutes in the early round; maybe longer, later).
And don’t leave without introducing yourself, or saying hello again, to the featured reader: me.

seeing…

1940s Dorothy in Palm SpringsDorothy is about 30 in the photo, on a trip to Palm Springs with her mother, Elsie. Perhaps Elsie’s husband, Max, was there; maybe he took the pictures. It’s hard to know.

I’ve looked at these photos hundreds of times. I turn them over again and again, hoping to discover a fragment of the story. But the reverse is always blank, so I look deeper at the image, trying to decipher something more about the woman who would become my mother.

A while back, I wrote about a photo that was dominated by the looming shadow of my mother’s brother, Bob. Today, after looking at this photo uncounted times, I notice it, too, has a shadow: Elsie.

The metaphor is unavoidable: Elsie and Bob were the twin shadows in my mother’s life. But I am surprised, too, at how easy it is to recognize someone by their shadow alone — and at the mysteriously selective process of seeing, which also offers this circularity: a daughter dominated by the shadow of her mother writes about a daughter dominated by the shadow of her mother.

found poem: BROKEN

found poem: the map

found poem: the hands

found poem: DARKNESS

found poem: lance

found poem: songbirds

found poem: mistaken

found poem: bare

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