By Rick Bursky
The night she walked to the house
she held a string; on the other end,
fifty-three feet in the air, a kite.
Wind provided the aerodynamics.
Does every collaboration
need to be explained?
She tied the string to the mailbox
left the kite to float until morning.
Every night this happens.
She sleeps, I listen, darkness
slides through us both.
The next morning
the string still curved into the sky
but the kite was gone.
This was the morning
newspapers announced
the Mona Lisa was stolen.
This was the morning
it snowed in Los Angeles,
the morning I wore gloves
to pull from the sky
fifty-three feet of frozen string.
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I had a fairly uneventful Bloomsday, having discovered in the morning that Project Gutenberg now has Ulysses available via QR Code. Both kids were home -- in a rare switch, Daniel was downstairs before Adam, who was enjoying his first day of summer vacation and spent it partly at the track and partly at the pool, in both cases with his friends, though he also had dogs to walk and photos to post (he is doing Project 365 with photos on Flickr and DeviantArt). As for Daniel, he spent so much time watching stupid internet videos while chatting with his friends that I forced him to go out for a walk after lunch, broken arm and all. I am a Failure as a mother, my kids agree.
I took a walk myself in the afternoon because it was beautifully overcast and not too hot and I wanted to see whether the neighborhood bunny was okay after a dog chased it yesterday (I didn't see the bunny, but Adam did when he was out taking photos). We had dinner with my parents, who won't be home Friday night since they are celebrating their golden wedding anniversary this weekend, whoo! Then we came home so I could watch the awesome "Mudd's Passion" which I need to review tomorrow (not only Spock saying, "Dear, lovely Christine" but Kirk and Spock declaring their mutual adoration under the influence of the love potion). A few more Huntley Meadows photos:
All right. I'll play.
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