Thursday, June 6, 2013

Mark MacDonald 

For the Poetess Lan Lan 

A new way of looking, a glance through the eyes
of somebody, anybody, someone not me, someone not
so gregarious, someone alone, someone not lonely:
 
A woman not washing dishes or cooking, a woman
not staring out the window; a woman not nursing a
child, or picking up after strangers; or even the people
 
she loves. So very few people stand on the sidewalks
in the city where I live, so very few people wait for a
bus or a friend with whom they work on the corner. 
 
This morning I fell in love with the poetess Lan Lan who
watches a flock of birds fly away and gathers the wind
in her scarf. “If anyone else stops to see what I see, 
 
I will accept that as a way of loving me,” she writes
in her poem called “The Village” a poem about
waiting, a poem about the promise of summer, a
 
poem about life lived in a village and standing
beneath the moon with only a candle. I love you 
Lan Lan, I love you. I love your orange scarf that
 
captures the breeze and lulls it to sleep; I love
your small hut by the river where two, only two,
quail play together in the grass. I have stopped
 
to see what you see, Lan Lan: “the apple flowers
fallen on the tombstones; the birds of the morning.”
I love you Lan Lan. And I know what the dead know.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Rina Rose

In the Sheer Light of a Connecticut Train Station

"'Kathy," I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh,
"Michigan seems like a dream to me now.
It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw..."
~America by Simon & Garfunkel~

I see that sleek silver train
crowded with so many passengers
stopping at the Hartford, CT Station
I got off dragging my rolling suitcase behind me
all through town as I did my best to remember
which sidewalks I took so I could find my way back

along the way I asked numerous people
where I could find the hospital
a hospital? said my mind
not a motel or even youth hostel with the last $60 I had?
not a restaurant?
to eat something when I was hungry

even my undrugged subconscious told me
this is illogical thinking, so wake up and clear your eyes
not yet. the delusion wasn’t done with me
none of the residents knew how to get to a hospital. strange
not even the crazy man with messy dreds and dressed in ragged clothes
who mumbled as he walked
he pretended he knew
so I left him behind and walked ahead of him

people kept telling me a big race happening soon that day
it reminded me of the Toyota Grand Prix of Long Beach, CA
I’d never been there either nor was I even a race fan
when I last saw the city I’d forgotten the hospital
I watched cars and people moving past me
did they even see me? and who won the race?

in this station of the metro
and a city I only visited in my dreams