By Kiki Petrosino
After Anne Sexton
Some ghosts are my mothers
neither angry nor kind
their hair blooming from silk kerchiefs.
Not queens, but ghosts
who hum down the hall on their curved fins
sad as seahorses.
Not all ghosts are mothers.
I’ve counted them as I walk the beach.
Some are herons wearing the moonrise like lace.
Not lonely, but ghostly.
They stalk the low tide pools, flexing
their brassy beaks, their eyes.
But that isn’t all.
Some of my ghosts are planets.
Not bright. Not young.
Spiraling deep in the dusk of my body
as saucers or moons
pleased with their belts of colored dust
& hailing no others.
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I had to get up very early Thursday for a routine doctor's appointment at the massive hospital conquest in Issaquah, so while it was a pretty drive, it made for a long day. (Appointment went fine, and I really liked the doctor, meaning she's probably about to retire or move back east as I have had no luck with doctors sticking around here!) We watched baseball around lunch, since the Orioles started early, and worked in front of the TV. Dinner was leftovers so I could get on my Thursday night Zoom chat. Otherwise the excitement of my day involved raiding an Asian Tatsugiri in Pokemon Go. Photos from a couple of weeks ago at In the Spirit Northwest Native Festival:
Right now we're watching The Thursday Murder Club, which is quite enjoyable -- lots of inside jokes -- but I really need to talk about this week's Strange New Worlds. It's not like I didn't laugh -- I did, as with the other total crack episodes this season, of which there have been far too many. And to be fair, Vulcans are the one thing even DS9 did terribly; the baseball episode, in which we find out that Sisko has deep anti-Vulcan prejudice, is one of my least favorites of my favorite series. But the Vulcans in SNW are atrocious, the relentless het rom-com is poorly written, and the details are just stupid -- who brought a lirpa on board, in case of pon farr?
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