April 19, 2011

Eating to remember is a burden of old tastes – electric can opener sous chef presides over three-bean vinegar monstrosities – but all I see are money-egg hunts with the cousins, racing towards slivers of plastic neon peeping from the truck tailpipe, and uncles snoring in seersucker suits in the recliners, full of fried chicken and coconut bunny cake.

March 5, 2011

Every day a mourning dove serenades the air shaft, and eyes sleep-knit shut I trudge to work in too-big clothes through Southern summer dawn. Gravel scuffs stir the sun blurred mist of pine-fence-grass heat wall, and a solitary dove on the telephone wire, plump body to slim neck Modigliani silhouette ready to be painted or wrung, calls for its mate.