She leaves me the season’s gifts
crimson tallow leaves
a thousand-petaled camellia
pert johnny-jump-up faces
I like to imagine her in a green silk slip
hazelnuts for eyes
hair corn husks dried and whispering
barefoot, winged, dazzling, elusive
Houston’s winter, subtle until late December
littering her bounty on my sidewalk like some prodigal daughter
Posted in creativity, Dark Angels, historical fiction, Karleen Koen, Now Face to Face, story and life, Through A Glass Darkly, writing process
Tagged "johnny-jump-ups", camellia, December, hazelnuts, Houston, winter
Christmas sights this week:
6 members of the Salvation Army choir singing their hearts out at the entrance to Walgreen’s, their voices carrying through the air to my car as I drive by…..
Great Christmas lights in River Oaks where enormous oaks dangle long strands of light from limb to ground…..
Snow, last snow 2004, next snow who knows, snow on Wednesday evening, swirling down fast enough to stick. I have to take a walk in it, stand under street lights where I can see it best. Its beauty shakes my heart. Who knows when I’ll see it again. And sure enough, by the next afternoon, it’s almost temperate. Houston in winter….
Out to Mom’s to make empanadillas, Puerto Rican meat pies, once a family tradition. We’ve upgraded. My daughter found a meat pie dough, already cut in circles. Still, it’s a lot of work, cooking pork, the smell of onion, garlic, capers, everywhere, adding a little olive, a bit of hard-boiled egg in the filling. Mom dozes in a rocking chair as we fold and fry. The meat pies are good, but not as good as memory. Isn’t that true about everything…?
Posted in family, life
Tagged "River Oaks", "Salvation Army", Add new tag, Christmas, empanadillas, Houston, Karleen Koen, lights, snow, winter
Sometimes I play at loose haiku, the way others do sudoku. I find the necessity for precision fun even though I usually fail at it. Here are some flailings….
on finding a bird’s feathers on the sidewalk:
at my feet feathers
spill across broken sidewalk
is it a crime if no one sees it
I’d dust for prints
but a cat’s small smile tells all
feathers spill across sidewalk
dove grey black tipped
a meow hangs in the air
Houston’s mild winters bring so many birds.
At the sight of hundreds on the electric lines:
sullen overcast skies
are broken by a hundred dark wings beating
against a grey wool twilight
they dip and dive against
grey wool skies and settle on the