• Carla

Between Storms

Off to the Races

Today’s been unpredictable,

a balloon in the wind,

but what can I say?

I’m a fan.

I’ve Got

celery scraps

four whole carrots

one large white onion

dairy-free butter in a pink tub

chopped garlic

dried thyme

and parsley



smoked paprika

mustard powder

iodized salt

and freshly ground black pepper,

hot water

vegetable stock

several squeezes of lemon juice

a box of garbanzo shell noodles

and heaps of kale in a pot,

served with leftover baguette

after two requests

for bowls

of the medicine

only I know how to make.


Out of the junk drawer,

a humble offering emerges to the Gods of Play.

Each crinkle around their wisened eyes

inviting new visions to life.

Between Storms

Any passing car (at this reasonable hour)

now bears witness

to a family in their pajamas

on a wet, June morning,

warm as the chalky messages of love

scrawled by a little boy without pants

that are buried in a basket of week-old clean laundry,

on which fresh sheets were piled only yesterday,

washed in a hurry after discovering that sneaky tick in his hair

in a room with walls tightly framing the queen bed barely able to fit them all now,

where hollows settle with sighs

as heads, arms, knees, and tiniest pinky tips gravitate spontaneously toward neighboring celestial bodies.


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