i’m bundled in a sherpa blanket
wishing i were in a red desert
but only wishing
“On Saturday afternoons I used to go for a walk with my mother. From the dusk of the hallway, we stepped at once into the brightness of the day. The passerby, bathed in melting gold, had their eyes half-closed against the glare, as if they were drenched with honey, upper lips were drawn back, exposing the teeth. Everyone in this golden day wore that grimace of heat–as if the sun had forced his worshippers to wear identical masks of gold. The old and the young, women and children, greeted each other with these masks, painted on their faces with thick gold paint; they smiled at each other’s pagan faces–the barbaric smiles of Bacchus.” from Bruno Schulz’s “The Street of Crocodiles.” Go read “Cinnamon Shops” and “Birds”
looking forward to seeing pentagram on monday a little power gloom to inaugurate the autumn.
each day i learn something from the 6th graders.
one calls me oh-oh-cheerio
one, at snack time, asks for ten graham crackers and an oreo
another just wants the cheddar, only if it’s sharp
one shows me how to whip it and nae-nae it –and she can also play the harp
one makes me feel bad about my outfits
one says “hashtag blessed” at each occasion that permits
another makes honey and grows zucchini with care
while my favorite says the next dalai should be a girl, you know, to make it fair