The tree of knowledge

Maybe that's the original sin. We create prosperity for our children but they demand more or know of more. What they have, becomes a minimum. Look at the 50's baby boomers. The hippies. The eighties. The computers. The cells. The self-park cars. The electric car is the closest to using knowledge for the better. Well, there are lots of them but the electric car is my favorite.

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Carnales (after Terrance Hayes)

We’re like kids running under shooting red fire hydrants, us, standing in transparent tanks & heavy shorts under our home’s gutter drain. “My turn,” I remember you say but I don’t move. Instead, I close my eyes & remember mom, twirling in her long denim-blue dress on our porch under the rain. Mom would take us outside in the rain to bathe together, ...

Dream #414

I was on a bus on my way to a new school, a high school on the south side of Chicago. I transferred to that school because I had moved into the area. The bus went south over a dark brick road bridge--it was dark because it was a gloomy day out--like the sky was heavy with rain. This new school was completely new--metal framework with floor-to-ceiling windows, open floors. The class body was mixed, with a majority being black and white students. I went to the second floor to wait in line at a check-in window. A very chatty boy behind me bumped into me and as I turned to look at him, we both felt an immediate attraction--we are both brown, we are both alternative. I'm reminded of my husband, I remembered I have a husband--maybe in that life or another--so I keep the boy in mind to feel less alone but ignore him as I wait in line. I'm outside in the vast woods that is the campus of the high school. There is a pond and there are green rolling hills of different sizes, all moving l...

Me, You, and Evals

My name is Mary. 5'3, medium brown hair that frizzes in the warmth. I like my shirts button to the top. Sometimes, I add my own bow made of left over ribbon from old gowns. My skirts are long and full. Its gets a little difficult for me to walk around when I need to get somewhere quickly but I really enjoy the sweeping movement it makes when I walk. Its as though I'm gliding. "Hi Mary". Its James. "Hi", I say shyly. I hope he doesn't notice my skin melting. "What is it you are writing? I always see you with your notebook and pen at hand. I thought I could sneak up to you this time to figure it out". Oh, that smile. Its so mischievious as if he knew his presence makes my pits sweat and my arms jiggle. "Just notes," I say. "But I must be on my way!" I say ratherly loudly and before he can object I walk in to the mist of morning traffic on Fletcher Street. I don't dare look back for fear he may be staring at me. Plus,...

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