Minneapolis, MN,
August, 2008
Unsent
`
Dear Lily,
The other day, I was sitting on a gnarled dry branch
Right above the river. Doing nothing. This felt exciting enough.
And comforting. And furry squirrels arced about in circles and eights nearby.
Geese entered the water; one looked up at me, once,
As if to say something, changed its mind, and continued sloping down
To the tiny river wavelets. I saw a rabbit, moments later;
It was crouching; and gazed straight at me, rudely
Then scurried away as soon as I smiled.
They all had something in mind you know,
Something I would have loved to say to you tonight.
With love,
Me
`
Dear Lily,
The other day, I was sitting on a gnarled dry branch
Right above the river. Doing nothing. This felt exciting enough.
And comforting. And furry squirrels arced about in circles and eights nearby.
Geese entered the water; one looked up at me, once,
As if to say something, changed its mind, and continued sloping down
To the tiny river wavelets. I saw a rabbit, moments later;
It was crouching; and gazed straight at me, rudely
Then scurried away as soon as I smiled.
They all had something in mind you know,
Something I would have loved to say to you tonight.
With love,
Me
`
East River Flats, Minneapolis, MN,
November, 2008
.jpg)
Purple river
`
Tonight, I will run away,
Into the distant dark
Beyond the hushed and weary silence
Where all things sleep,
To visit my purple river.
Shawl clad, and lamp in hand,
Where they lie in whispers
Behind their doubting doors,
I will tiptoe past.
And when a trembling voice calls out:
"Who goes there?"
I will not answer.
Tonight, I have to visit my purple river.
Barefoot, through the crumbling dust,
When I reach her edge, I will blow out my lamp,
That I may see her again.
And I will whisper to her:
"Tonight, purple river, I have come to listen."
Tonight, purple river, I will not say: "Stop your flimsy tale!
And hear me talk, I have so much to say."
Tonight I will listen
To your purple voice
Undulating, in the distant dark.
Purple river, tell me all those secrets tonight
Of little farmer girls in red frocks
That only your naughty ripples know of.
Of the fisherman's son, and the barber's wife,
Of the shepherd who lost his flute,
Who plays no more his lost tune.
Purple river, make me giggle tonight,
Make me laugh, and make me cry,
And make me smile just the way you do
Rippling as you flow by.
Purple river, I too have tales to tell,
But they are flimsy, and they are gray;
And I have run and come to you
To hear of your coloured day
Of a coloured life, and of coloured people,
In your simple, purple way.
`
Tonight, I will run away,
Into the distant dark
Beyond the hushed and weary silence
Where all things sleep,
To visit my purple river.
Shawl clad, and lamp in hand,
Where they lie in whispers
Behind their doubting doors,
I will tiptoe past.
And when a trembling voice calls out:
"Who goes there?"
I will not answer.
Tonight, I have to visit my purple river.
Barefoot, through the crumbling dust,
When I reach her edge, I will blow out my lamp,
That I may see her again.
And I will whisper to her:
"Tonight, purple river, I have come to listen."
Tonight, purple river, I will not say: "Stop your flimsy tale!
And hear me talk, I have so much to say."
Tonight I will listen
To your purple voice
Undulating, in the distant dark.
Purple river, tell me all those secrets tonight
Of little farmer girls in red frocks
That only your naughty ripples know of.
Of the fisherman's son, and the barber's wife,
Of the shepherd who lost his flute,
Who plays no more his lost tune.
Purple river, make me giggle tonight,
Make me laugh, and make me cry,
And make me smile just the way you do
Rippling as you flow by.
Purple river, I too have tales to tell,
But they are flimsy, and they are gray;
And I have run and come to you
To hear of your coloured day
Of a coloured life, and of coloured people,
In your simple, purple way.
`
Minneapolis, MN,
March, 2008
Remembering friends
`
There's a winter in a chilly air
And fog drops on a sand
And there's an eye that draws me near
In a foreign land
`
There's a winter in a chilly air
And fog drops on a sand
And there's an eye that draws me near
In a foreign land
`
Minneapolis, MN,
March, 2008
.jpg)
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