I went to a party tonight. Yes, that is one of my favorite things to do. I love people, and I love talking, and I love eating. That, my friends, is an excellent recipe for a party. I got to the party early, bringing ice and ready to lend a hand to the organizers. The house is near my previous abode, in one of my favorite neighborhoods in the world.
At one point I left behind the bustle of preparations to sit alone on the front step. The evening was warm, the air was still but not stagnant. the sun was down behind the trees, the air buzzed with fading light and last minute bees. Trees line the street, businesses and houses mingle on either side. A coffee shop, a clinic, 3 year old townhouses, 100 year old craftsman houses. A block away blues music sauntered out of a restaurant where diners were enjoying al fresco. Wait staff waltzed around with dishes and pitchers. Cars came and went on their busy secret missions. Bicycles peddle past.
There were no loud noises, just a constant hum of evening activity. People walked up and down the street. On one hand, I have lived in this area on and off for 20 years. On the other hand, there was something unfamiliar, almost foreign about this moment, as if I was in another city, another country, another life. It reminded me of life in the South, being an activist in Atlanta. It reminded me of Oakland. It reminded me of someplace I've never been. It felt so good.
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Friday, July 31, 2009
One Hundred and Four
White cotton fixes on my heated skin
Holding itself to my damp shape
Sun arcs the sere sky
Moving from hot to hotter and back to hot
Splitting into the over and under of summer
Later days indistinguishable
Morning from evening
Sky the color of unwatered lawns
Cool is only found at the bottom
...of the pool, the deep end
...of the glass of iced tea
...of the dream in fitful sleep
...of the sheets under the ice packs
...of the freezer section in the store
Where no one looks alarmed as I bend
My ear to the icy edemame
The bag at the bottom of the freezer
is telling me how to stay cool.
Holding itself to my damp shape
Sun arcs the sere sky
Moving from hot to hotter and back to hot
Splitting into the over and under of summer
Later days indistinguishable
Morning from evening
Sky the color of unwatered lawns
Cool is only found at the bottom
...of the pool, the deep end
...of the glass of iced tea
...of the dream in fitful sleep
...of the sheets under the ice packs
...of the freezer section in the store
Where no one looks alarmed as I bend
My ear to the icy edemame
The bag at the bottom of the freezer
is telling me how to stay cool.
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