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New Poetry by Deborah Lattizori
The Seeds of Dis Home home on the … Why do you call Patti’s mother mom? Where are you going? Out? Out is a place? Well Be home by dinner. pedalin’ nowhere special lookin’ at the bees findin’ all the treasures lookin’ at the trees Where the deer and the antelope… No! Don’t touch that cat it’s dirty. Leave that dog alone. It’s got mange We should leave you here With the animals where you belong. runnin’ sorta too fast scrape my knee cry a little sittin’ just bein’ me Where seldom is heard a discouraging word… Look at what you’ve done. What are you crying for? You shouldn’t feel like that . Shame on you. dreamin’ out the voices hummin’ in the breeze hidin’ in my music lookin’ for some ease And the skies… Always Rain Rain Rain. lookin’ at the rainbows dragons in the sea playin’ in the puddles waitin’ to be free.
Thirty Second Lives In the dark we set our intentions. Left, not right. Two blocks only; it looks like rain. The dogs are glad for the fallen leaves. What smells were up are now down. I am glad for the night, for the few stars left holding the darkness before the oncoming clouds. We set the pace. First, stop. What other walks begin like this I wonder. Then stroll, stroll, step… stop. The dogs think the walk is for them, but really it’s for me. They are my excuse to stand in the dark and look through unguarded windows thirty seconds at a time. At one house, how odd to place a stove against a window. At another, I like that lamp. At another I wonder what he’s reading. And then, my favorite child, she and her grandmother in the glow of a candle light dinner. Sort of late for the child though. It all looks so golden from here where I stand comfortably just outside the circle of light in the place that is not seen. My breathing gets so easy that my lungs get big. If a door were to open and a voice call out, “Hi! Come in”, I think I could leave my suddenly butterfly stomach and sweaty palms tied to the street lamp with the dogs. I think I could answer, “OK thanks. Maybe just for a minute.”
Coming in from Play Two princess friends The cold air makes our mouths juicy We shake the hay from our heads, bowing low, Dust the horsehair from each other’s sleeves. We head into the kitchen To grab rewards for our winged warriors Who have saved us from the evil daemons With their strength of flight. The late morning light chases us through the door Then dashes ahead, glancing off the apples In the blue ceramic bowl. Gliding through the amber of the half empty bottle It comes to rest on the mother Face up on the kitchen floor. My friend steps stiffly over the body And heads up the stairs to her room Our heroes whinny And stomp in their stalls. I follow her in silence. We will still have butterflies.
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