Haircut in Summer, South India My sister-in-law cut my niece’s hair— a strand, then a chunk, for each drop of sweat that taunted and whispered fever— until long black locks were shoulder high— then chin— then cut close to the head. A boy’s cut, she said would make the fever go away. Jennifer Jeremiah is […]Read more "Haircut in Summer, South India"
A Master What if A Master could teach my son to fly over the cornfields of any countryside a person might wish or dream to see. This Master would dress like a carnival barker. My son, who long ago stopped minding my rules, would kick off his tennis shoes and take flight. People would see […]Read more "A Master"
Political Harvest Toward the east Through back porch screen Clouds are forming their ranks Against the sun A crow’s distant cawing Gives voice to solitude Worn like a thorny cloak And mocks that final promise Hope and lifeline once Now become more lethal Than foreign shrapnel Pines murmured all night In their high, strange tongue […]Read more "Political Harvest "
Dayton Street Remember when diapers were delivered By a truck with a stork painted on it? I still see that truck once in a while, Like a sighting of the Goodyear blimp. Or maybe I made that up; Memory and reality don’t really mesh. Crashing the Tupperware party, I found more plastic. But far be […]Read more "Dayton Street"
What Title? The night they drove old YouTube down the printed word felt good again. I saw five kids read a book aloud. Their heads were full of tempting notions. What title? I don’t need to know that. It’s on the cloud, thank heavens. Tim Kahl is the author of Possessing Yourself (CW Books, 2009), […]Read more "What Title?"
Fridge Magnets Fridge magnets make the family. Remove one and memory fails. See them linger on the broad door. A museum of trips and pics. Each moment one reaches for wholesome milk the past does its best to please. Tim Kahl is the author of Possessing Yourself (CW Books, 2009), The Century of […]Read more "Fridge Magnets"
A California Street I had a vivid dream at nine, living by the California coast, walking down a wide street, past palm trees and Spanish-style houses. I marveled at the warmth of the sun, the clearness of the turquoise sea and how beautiful the birds-of-paradise were. Then I woke from the dream and walked a […]Read more "A California Street"
The Clean Bugs, The Dirty Carpet The trending of past negative scars, the warzone isn’t out there it’s in here, the armed militant swans of the underground resistance have bad credit and worse mannerisms, ghetto apartments inside of the unknown and Terminus City are doorways to the abyss and anti-social personality disorders, funerals for forgotten […]Read more "The Clean Bugs, The Dirty Carpet"
A Boxer’s Bell Arty was born in the coal mines, hands blackened by the hardness of a coal miner’s life, a tough guy who learned how to street fight. Like a boxer, he took a boxing stance at the sound of the bell, any bell—even a cowbell or a school bell. He threw left hooks […]Read more "A Boxer’s Bell"
The Little People Three little people hang out on the the edge of my bookshelves quietly reading the life history of corvids the courtship of red-tails light on yoga a book of Celtic legends and Anglo-Saxon riddles. They cross their feet in zazen, permission granted to enter the narrows, follow the ways of shelf elves. […]Read more "The Little People"