Archives for the month of: June, 2008

everything and the kitchen sink

There came a time
(it’s obvious now)
when stir fry just wouldn’t cut it anymore

It’s not that you have anything
specifically against stir fry, per say
it’s more that it’s a metaphor

For what you can, today
recognize as the constant aversion
to forward motion, investigation, and trial
(and inevitably, error)

There are people (you know who)
out there who want to make stir fry
every time they think to pick up a pan

Because to them stir fry is a guarantee
it keeps them safe
agreeing with the image they’ve been telling the world they portray

But you speak to the world a different tale
one that involves tacos and strawberry rhubarb pie (made from scratch)
fill-in-the-blank muffins, steamed bok choy with tofu, and sauerkraut
your meals, your moods, your style, your interests, your friends, your life
assembling a mosaic replete with a panoply of design and texture

You love that you never stick with what you know or what you’re good at
that you never deign to utter such words as I can’t or I shouldn’t

And though these things seem to have little
or nothing to do with cooking
you know full well, Eve, that you can trace the fall back
to the day you dared to tire of his trusty stir fry



She who reconciles the ill-matched threads
of her life, and weaves them gratefully
into a single cloth–
it’s she who drives the loudmouths from the hall
and clears it for a different celebration

where the one guest is you.
In the softness of evening
it’s you she receives.

You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking centre of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more
and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.

~Rainer Maria Rilke~

ode to berries of blue

in the absence
of the sweetness and beauty i seek
i make do with what’s at hand

I watch you roll
toward us with your thunder
in tow

And I, as humble servant
feign fear in your presence

But truly I
do not fear you,
nor this darkness you
threaten to hold me captive within

There is not even a thread of disdain in
you for us.

In I for you.

sun rising on red earth

the endless nights
and glowing mornings
made simple by your eyes
and infinitely complex
by your heart wrapped
in sheaths of linen
and strands of gold

I was catching up on quirkyalone news last night when I read about Not Quite What I Was Planning on SMITH Magazine. SMITH Magazine might be my new favourite site, sorry mental_floss…(I still love you!). (That was a lot of linkage for me; very out of the ordinary, but I wanted you to know!)

I had long ago heard of Hemingway’s famous, “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” six-word story challenge. Having a rather large and ingrained adoration for poetry, the whole idea of summing up one’s life at a particular moment in six words delights me to no end.

So, randomly, but when the inspiration sparks, I shall indulge here with my own six-word memoirs. Feel free to leave yours in the comments if you so desire.

Right now my six-word memoir goes like this:

Being quiet. Wishing I was alone.