(A Bref Double, prompted by Writer's Digest, October 2014)
"Between Places"
She sits at the table, pen in hand
gazing at the rain-filled mountains.
It is an autumn afternoon. Pomegranates bloom
along the graveled road.
There are places disconnected
yet connected through memories of land,
space and taste of coffee
that lightens her weekly load.
It is not one she bears with a grudge
but rather a willingness
to lean forward, making room
for whatever the Fates forebode.
Although she lives in a city of sand,
coffee reminds her of another ocean road.
(An ekphrastic poem, prompted by a photo in Writer's Digest, October, 2104 and from viewing Anthony Bourdain's CNN show on The Bronx)
"The Bronx"
I see you on the floor
pushing your chest against the dirty tiles
as you raise up to face your enemy.
He slams his leather boot against your torn shirt.
You grimace, then smile at me.
A lanky feline,
I just happened to come out from behind the metal staircase
and find you fighting for your solitary life.
I wish I could give you one of my nine.
You fed me fish an hour ago,
but now it appears
I am alone on the streets again
as you sputter your last breath.
