Our whole week was a recipe
called Indulge.
Days beat gently past us, like slow
waves or like soft, sure hands
kneading bread dough.
The world was warm.
Languid and gleeful,
we submitted ourselves
to the pummeling,
allowed ourselves
to be shaped for
Rest.
Now, like following a delicious recipe
known almost by heart, it is time
to move on to the next step.
Now, we are set to Rise.
Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems
Favorite Recipe
Drowning In Coffee Foam
But
what a way to Go
says the bee perched
on the rim of my cup of
Cappuccino
Peach Tree
The tree in the yard
so filled with ripening peaches
that we must brace the branch
or lose it:
Define Plenty
His Work In This World: American Fairy Tale
As we punch our alarms, brush our teeth, hurrying,
the old man takes his seat in front of a rusty green trailer on Route 24.
Five days I’ve seen him now, parked on his kitchen chair
at the side of the road, waving to the cars that pass.
He is the main character in this American Fairy Tale,
set exactly here to dispense Safe Travels,
Comfortable Dinners and Sleep Full Of Magical Dreams
to all who wave back.
Don’t wave and there’s trouble ahead—a fender-bender, a burnt roast,
a sleepless night.
Almost no one, of course, ever figures this out.
I wouldn’t have either,
except I stopped my car today,
thinking I was Lost,
and so learned the twist in this tale.
Here, in his story, no horses, no forests,
no travelers who’ve missed their path,
nor displaced royalty searching for
Dragons
Treasure
or Magical Birds
Or at least
none wise or lucky enough to stop their car
and ask directions from an old man.
August
is tart lemonade and a blue plate of sugar cookies sprinkled with colored crystals, eaten on the front porch, frosty glass perched on the wide railing, cookie on a paper napkin crumbs dropped for the ants (all business, as usual) to cart away.
Blackberry Pancakes
This was over breakfast, your homemade pancakes
thick with the blackberries I picked this morning,
still damp with dew when I drove them to your house.
We discussed living alone–
It’s all about angles, I said.
From a spot in the grass,
one tiny frog can take on the aspect
of movie monsters.
Your eyes light up.
Before this descends into a talk about Godzilla,
I make the transition—all about angles,
Point of View. Just so, life.
From a certain angle, lonely.
From another angle, rich
with magic and words.
You frown, puzzled. Then your face
clears, you pour maple syrup over your pancakes
and laugh. Oh, you say,
I thought we were talking about Angels.
Bliss: Five Sentence Fiction
Thanks once again to Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction for this week’s prompt. Visit her site to read other five-sentence fictions. Here’s my shot at it–
Bliss can be bought in a bottle, you know, so you Google directions to the right sort of store, an apothecary, as they used to say back when they first started bottling Bliss.
If they ever manage to find the store, most people pass Bliss by because it’s hard to grasp, the bottle is small and slippery, always perched precariously on the highest shelf and of course it’s almost invisible, which is why people settle for other bottles, larger ones on lower shelves, bottles labeled Comfort, Success In Business, Health, Wealth, Self Control, or the Abilities bottles: Mechanical, Mathematical, Culinary, Artistic, Musical, etc. when Bliss is what they wanted all along.
You’ll likely never get there by Google, but someday you may stumble upon the shop beneath the squeaky metal sign. It happens that way, occasionally, and if it happens to you, the secret is to walk to the back of the shop where dusty bottles are stacked to the ceiling, hold out your hands, right where you are, and Bliss might leap down and choose you.
But that way is rare and people spend fruitless years searching for the shop, so I’ll tell you the second secret: Bliss takes itself wherever it pleases and often can be found at your corner market next to the children’s favorite jam, or the mustard your love says is tastiest and there it is, ready to crawl into your arms like a sleepy kitten that’s been waiting just for you, and you can carry it home, for free.
Conjuring Trick
Sudden as thunder,
the mind shifts.
In the midst of perfect August,
instead of summer,
your head fills with February.
February deep with snow and
cozy as a children’s story.
Fire in the hearth, soft quilts,
stew simmering on the stove,
Mozart on the radio.
Tap the window of this scene
and the woman inside
will look up, into the middle distance
as if at nothing at all.
I know what she sees.
In her red sweater
and thick socks, as she stirs
she is picturing August
and both of us smile.
Five Sentence Fiction: Limitless
Response to this week’s prompt on Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction.
Everyone told him it was the wrong time of year for balloon rides, that he ought to wait till autumn and charge twenty dollars for a tethered float at the county fair.
July was too hot, they said, and though the balloon was visible above the corn field, the sign itself was hard to see, obscured by stalks that soared higher every day, so it was unlikely anyone would find him.
But here was this girl, young, with a spark in her eye that should have made him uneasy, if he wasn’t so occupied feeling smug that he’d actually attracted a paying customer.
She handed him one hundred dollars and said to keep the change, which seemed generous until she told him, “Getting ready to leave is like pulling a bandage off slow,” as she cut the rope while he was still on the ground and left him below to watch his balloon sail away over the cornfields.
All his maps tumbled into the air and as they drifted down he heard the pop of the champagne cork overhead.
Lawn Care
Don’t grieve when your eyes age
and details blur.
Now weeds in the yard transform—
tiny white flowers
float
Only if you bend close
do stems appear and
tether the magic floating blossoms
to earth.
So, also, don’t grieve over your shaggy
weed-scattered lawn. Mowed,
those floating blossoms
disappear.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 