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Poem: Diffident

Listen,
it’s a steel dove of a city,
with eyes more grey than blue,

still she’ll tuck you under her wing
and in her jumble of language,

coo
more sweetly than your mama can sing.
Her pinions are raised for you,

tall sheets of glass feathers.
When they called her green,

Hon’,
they meant callow, like you,
they meant she is constantly

burning with electricity,
burning herself down,

burning,
like emeralds don’t,
‘cause if you squint just right

the concrete under your feet
is more beautiful than a flower.


**************************
The weather turned unseasonably nice this weekend and today we headed for the beach. I sat by the water and stared at a rock, turning it over in my hands, and thinking how it was in some strange way more entrancing than staring at a daisy.

Yes, that’s what I do in my spare time: stare at rocks.

Wow, that's a really big rock.

I finished the short story I started in Arizona and, I posted the next chapter of Murder in the Ferns yesterday.  If you haven't checked out MITF yet, why not pop on by?  
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