Bibi

Bibi was grandmother’s favorite bat,
And a frequent visitor to her attic bedroom.
She’d laugh all night at Bibi’s stories
About all the mosquitoes he had eaten;
She howled at his Lugosi impersonation.
Bibi was killed by a corn broom-wielding neighbor,
A used-up-dishrag-of-a-man
Used to smashing other people’s dreams.
Grandmother died soon after,
Of something like malaria,
But more like a broken heart.
-Elizabeth Moura

..day 79..

at dusk the bats kinda do that

and we aint got the swallows here

like we used to have

sitting on the wires

flying in the hall

maybe again now the people

are all indoors

though more out than usual

in this warm spell

i like the pictures of the amish

neat and sedate riding in to

demonstrate

so it goes

james

sometimes when we get lost

we find new experiences

a new landscape

i tell you who already know

what i said about brainwaves explains

why my mind wanders while i write

remembers places

tiny details nip

back into mind

today i am hedging again

it looks a mess so far so i

imagine

that when the worst is gone

i shall dress dainty and clip

about like a lady

all nice and tidy

other things have growed and we tied them with a scarf

is comfy

..day 80..

did you see that christo has died?

i am wearing last year’s sandals
and they look like new
childrens
i guess i have small feet

i admire him the same as i admire
anselm keifer

while wondering if i spell them
correctly

i walked miles today
the blisters i worried over
did not materialise

first day in summer footwear

never aware that no form is
indeed a form

that randomness is recognised
as a category

the poetry group does not
meet of course
and we email the stuff
so at last i can see the format

the patterns and syllables

i may not go back
to the group if ever
all this be over

so i worked on the hedge all day
scratched, bitten and hog tired
that my head hung

we sat in bed listening
heard nothing
nothing as it came through the window
black, so beautiful

not one sound
nothing

flew around a while then back out into
the night

i know how to spell silent
yet it does not explain the
absence of sound with all
the movement
that life

this morning i listened to water
falling

we desire many things when
mostly we want to be able to
breathe
james

you never talk much about food
though you do relate coffee incidents

james i hope you do not mind me saying

i best get back to the hedge project
early
before the sun beats my back
my arms
my little nose

suntrap