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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
 Posted - 08/19/2017 : 18:47:22
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The Sailor and the Mute Fortune Teller under Embarcadero sun. The spelled weather. The wind billowing sails in the Bay. Salt spray across the bow. Any day now they'll take that walk again. Faint smear of paint on the inside of his wrist touching hands and letting go. So much trance in those afternoons. And later. Spread-open sky through the window. Moon, a green sheen on the quilt. Their easy breathing fiercely dreaming when the needle drops back on track one. |
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San Diego
Swinger
509 Posts |
Posted - 09/27/2017 : 11:20:26
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| They're here for the school year. 3rd and 6th grade. My kids grew up in the kitchen. I show them pictures of Cameron standing on a stool at the stove flipping pancakes when he was three. Sean and Jeffrey peeling and stirring and chopping at six and seven. "You guys gonna rock and roll with this gig?" my son Jonathan asks them. They nod. "If you've got questions, ask them. If something's bothering you, say it out loud." "When will we have an earthquake?" Daniel asks. Jon goes to his truck and comes back with a half bushel of Julian apples. Guess we're making pie. |
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San Diego
Swinger
509 Posts |
Posted - 09/29/2017 : 14:41:26
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| I went searching for Cam's report cards and found the old telephone answering machine. "Wellllll..." Mick says, "I suppose you're out on the beaCHHH... Playin' in the sanDDD... And the surFFF... And the foaMMM... Wish I was there with ya..." His unique delivery coming down hard on the ends of words when he was seeing the scene in his mind. I remember those beach calls clearly. The children hungry and making a racket on the patio. The Wiffle bat striking the chimes. The shower running continuously outside. Sand on the floor. The fridge door always open. Trying to talk with him over that din. "You sound like a mother wolf with a litter of cubs at your heels, hahaha." "Jus' doin' the day," he called it. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 09/30/2017 : 17:35:45
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| Live moments in the book of sketches. Ribbon track beside the long shore where the Coaster crosses San Elijo lagoon. The shielding trees and red paverstone patio. Bougainvillea climbing the latticed wall. His head tipped back laughing. His baffling ways. His summing-up eyes filling with sunshine. His profile that never changes. Salt-weathered fences and banner-bright skies. Nodding sunflowers wide morning faces. Bells on her shoes tied with fish line bicycling to Seaside Market for the news. |
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 10/06/2017 : 16:57:06
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"Do you remember?
The figurines on the tabletop.
The dusty pictures on the walls,
the white bearded handsome man
that sang his waltzes quietly in the corner...
The friends stopping by on the odd nite.....
Spin around for me sweetheart,
I love to listen to you dance.
The room goes on forever.... "
-Hank Beukema
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buckman
Firefly
USA
2825 Posts |
Posted - 10/06/2017 : 17:00:13
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As I stepped out into the
Newly cold air
I smelled a fireplace and
Thought of other Octobers.
Jesse ran off for the Cavalry
When he was just eighteen
And Carmelita, well,
Carmelita she just kind of
Flew away one morning...
I've said it before, but
Some choices just kinda
Get made For us.
But tonight,
I spread my arms to the
Starry October sky and
I scream out for the strength to
Choose to be sober and sane for
Just one more day...
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 10/16/2017 : 08:46:45
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I watch the children in their seaweed mantles. Sunset behind them spreading red on the water. A pentimento picture through my kitchen window. They seem so happy. So free. And later, the crowded loud meal. We clear the table and slice up desert. Flakey cracks in the crust. "Earthquake pie!" Daniel shouts, obsessed with natural disaster. "It's not in your recipe box, ma..." my son says catching my eye, "...it's improv." I have the desire. I need the energy.
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Edited by - Ailinn on 12/09/2019 21:20:54 |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 10/16/2017 : 08:50:34
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| His mind so hot it sizzled. His eyes so bluely fluent that night when starlight first touched down on water. Their urgent voices almost music. "Lemme tell you somethin', woman..." he said in Frankincensco. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 10/25/2017 : 17:20:00
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| The first November they lost the light at 4pm. Blick down the block and coffee on every corner. They sat knee to knee at tiny tables with their hot cups under Southwest and United shadows. They had so many lifetimes to tell. All coming back dark or shining. "Your hands are cold," he said later when their limbs had frozen in place. The chair scrape when he rose. The constellations starry pictures. The shuttered mysteries on India Street revealed. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 11/06/2017 : 17:18:03
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| "...benches and fences. Trees growing out of grates in the sidewalk. All the borough-connecting bridges and fire escapes clinging to ivy brick walls. So much iron and steel in that city. And din. Witches and gargoyles in Central Park. Flying dragons. Andersen and Grimm. The stoic gravestones in the little church yard. The Knights in their armor. The one with the star. A gold locket with a four-leaf clover inside. Horn and Hardart's twenty-five cent slot of tart lemon meringue pie." "The picture over your desk..." he says. The one with the star. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 11/19/2017 : 15:33:49
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Solitaire is a game she plays waiting for his journey-driven profile. His blue heart way. His sapphire and diamond highways. His ruby at the top of the mast. Later when they're staring at every star in the sky she says, "This is starting to scare me." He's quiet for several moments, then, "No it's not," he says.
At the marshy edge of the bent lagoon white birds fly by rain-washed hedges. Layered clouds. Sky on sky. A bit of ragged fog for the jetty.
She writes his name in Rainy Wind font. He likes to watch it happen. India ink and a calligraphy pen. Her fingers permanently ink-stained.
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 11/30/2017 : 21:41:29
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At the edge of the canvas he painted her blurred. Barefoot. Ankle deep in green water. Her skirts hiked up. Her hair falling. Falling. Only her waving hand showing through. A Dream In the Reeds, he called it. "Only one thing for certain..." he said, (and he spread his wings wide here) "...comes in every color." How he loved the story in the margins.
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Edited by - Ailinn on 11/30/2017 22:25:58 |
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San Diego
Swinger
509 Posts |
Posted - 12/17/2017 : 14:59:18
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| “Save the children, save the children, cried the Captain to the crew.” |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 12/17/2017 : 15:11:21
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| Heart-driven years under The Sign and The Cross. The mineral hills in the distance. Sky the unimaginable blue of old View Master reels. The fervent earth spinning around them. His quirky magic. His paper-cut soul. The boundless design in his mind. His white shirt shining turned up at the cuffs. The tyranny of time ticking out of his wrists. The candles going down to stubs. Oh, the stones turn and murmur, don’t they. The tide drags its coarse salt over the shore. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 12/30/2017 : 15:23:39
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The first morning Eve wakes beside Adam, Adam winks. Trouble before they begin. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 12/30/2017 : 15:27:21
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| He likes aerial shots of the bay and embarcadero. The sloops neat in the curve of the Coronado Bridge. He likes the Lilac Road Rainbow over Interstate 15. Its many arched photos over the desk. And there, tucked in a corner, the Goat Canyon Trestle. "Just a little accordion embroidery..." he says. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 12/30/2017 : 15:33:04
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| Midnight with the dinosaurs at Wheel Inn off the 10. "No accident," he says, "I don't believe in 'em." His gaze so grave she shivers. "The American," she calls him sometimes. Leans in on his word. A quiet life in a deep-harbor city. Salt and sealight in a white-washed room. A stop at the post office to collect the mail. A hold-out key in a jar for the chimes. Inviolate time in the garden. Later she crushes an aspirin tablet and drops it in a vase of flowers. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/07/2018 : 19:15:30
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| Country road past the reservoir and power plant all wonder and blue vapor sky. (Nothing faux in that thimble-size town.) "No dark books, baby. No bad cards..." They're leaving the bladed places. The hot doors and windows. The sun-stained sky radiant with smog. The low chord of longing on the other end of the land line. It's a singular story. Duct tape and safety flares. "...ya know what I'm sayin," he says. Word-for-word in the next century. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/07/2018 : 19:21:14
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Roiling clouds. The whole wet sky. West wind taking the palms down. He's on the curves with the radio cutting out. Wipers not up to the job. They were people who boarded a ship in the middle of the night cold in their clothes in a saint's seaside city. Deck slick with rain under storm-kindled sails. Waves all foam and glitter. "Do this for me," he said.
His dusty lashes sweep his cheeks when he dreams of pirates water. |
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Ailinn
Windchimer
2196 Posts |
Posted - 01/15/2018 : 17:32:02
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| There are plans underway to repair the Desert Line which includes the Goat Canyon Trestle. The line that connects with the Baja Rail Mexico Line at Tijuana. Crosses and re-crosses the border near Campo. Runs through Carrizo Gorge, seventeen tunnels and fifty-seven bridges to Plaster City. It will offer an alternate route for goods made in Mexico into the U.S. and eliminate much traffic on Interstate 5. Double stack rail containers take down the trolley lines so they have to ship everything from San Diego to Long Beach and Los Angeles by truck now. Always a sea of semis waiting several hours to cross. The Trestle Bridge itself is a wonder. Like a two hundred feet high macramé wall hanging against the Anza Borrego sky. I'd like to pitch a tent and stay out there through the repairs. |
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The Nightly Vigil