The paths we take though a city are laid out in asphalt and stone
in side-yard fences
in restaurants and convenience stores known and unknown.
I drove down the freeway today, took the less-than-predictable exit,
one later than I'd planned -
paused in front of a neon land laid out
on the vertical white walls of the nearest museum. It
cast a red glow like the firelight of the video installation
in the next room over.
When will I pass this way again?
So about a year ago, I started going to Coastside Poetry. I’d taken a memoir class the prior fall, taught by Kathleen McClung; she was Coastside’s featured reader one month, and I went along because hey, why not.
It was a nice vibe, friendly people, and there was an open mic signup sheet. I took a big deep breath and put my name on the list.
That was a year ago. And now, this:
Twelve days until I’m one of those featured readers myself! Really looking forward to it (and hoping there’s an audience). If you are in the area, and looking for something fun to do on a Tuesday evening… well. Would love to see you there!
I found my alter ego
walking naked through the desert
wearing combat boots and carrying a laptop with a half dead battery.
She was sunburned and grinning
said, Have you seen these cholla spines?
before spinning in circles to mark out a labyrinth.
It was back then the beginning of the nineties
and rebellion hadn’t found the internet
or headphones or streaming
so read books and smoked weed
when not inhaling glues meant for home craft projects.
This was back before knitting was ironic
back when dialup was a connection
and the cool kids with money broke their ankles
on the way back from skiing.
Miss me? said my alter ego.
Take a closer look, squinting.
You never know what’s coming.
You never know what’s still there.