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Polka Mass

Tuesday, 23. August 2011 20:45

the enso

An blurry action photo of polka dancers dancing

"Oompas and Waltzes" by marlowe

the poem

It happens once
a year, like a pint of Guinness
or a slice of key lime
pie, an annual tradition to mark
what we cannot foresee, as time
loops around the clock like dancers
circling this hardwood floor. We are
grateful for the Shiner beer
before Mass begins, the St. Mary’s Choir
chanting in Czech while we fiddle
with our pink camouflage wrist bands,
proof we paid our dues.
The elders wear traditional
costumes with cowboy boots, stealing
gentle yet furtive glances,
a touch, then, perhaps later
a scandalous public kiss. But it’s
the old-time polkas that whoop
up the crowd, the serious
couples kicking in real
soft leather-soled shoes that shuffle.
Even the toddlers are humbled
by the bass drum. We could play
checkers on these white & red table clothes,
each plastic square perfectly aligned:
seamless and predictable and simple.
The controlled chaos continues to churn
while Miss Lavaca County pops her gum
on the sidelines. We watch the fashionistas
swirl by in long tiered skirts, winking
at the K of C officers in full regalia, black capes
pinned back at the shoulder, swords ready.

Category:Ephemeral, Human | Comments Off | Autor:

Compilation #6

Tuesday, 8. February 2011 21:00

the enso

An office plant and a chair sit by window blinds

"Window Blinds" by marlowe

the poem

You see these leaves at dusk, kissed
by the departing sun, glittering like flakes
of gold dust. Lattices
of snowflakes lay like antique lace,
a white crochet scarf adorning your jacket.
The cold may encase
your bones like ribbons of linen
wrapping a mummy but the sun
is an electric blanket, a friend
as warm as the clay
coffee mug you cradle. The dog’s woolly coat
separates into columns like a coral reef,
your hand a starfish.
Fence posts are the discard spears
of our wars, recycled.
You see the downtown skyscrapers flicker
like candles on a birthday cake, and you wish
for the full moon, a whole
peppermint pattie. You know
pine cones, artichokes, lotus flowers, and humans unfold
to find their inner beauty, to find relief.
Meanwhile, inside, the window blinds slant
like the ridges of a steel washboard, and the chandelier
crystals sparkle like sequins. When you are still,
you can hear the groans and creaks
of your soul. Like an overripe fruit, we teeter
on a balance beam, swinging between growth and rot,
light and dark. Our paths may fork
but the tree, with its multitude of branches, creates
so many starts and ends, showing us how
to hold possibility. These gold coins
jangling in your purse, these suns you hide
from the world, are your talents.

Category:Animal, Human, Mineral, Plant | Comments Off | Autor: