Joe
Invisible
till you aren't
Invisible in plain sight
There's no
one here yet?
His dark eyes
looked deep within my soul and saw a thing I’d never seen.
There's no one here yet? Asked each time I walked into the pub at 5 pm
as happy hour started and I searched for friends
There's no
one here yet?
One
day he said to me, “What about me? Aren't I someone?”
that
made me stop - stunned by my insensitivity - and think about words
words
spoken each time I greeted him - he was non-existent
made to feel like a placeholder - less than
There's no
one here yet?
Called out - pow
- like
a punch to the gut
Shot fired; target hit
That happened more than forty years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. He was my friend, and his name was Joe - he introduced me to Are You Experienced - he had a fascination with heroin. We never did it, but it was a talking point; what would happen if we did? would it be better than anything we’d ever tried? He talked of his fear of driving down south. He lived with Kathleen. We shared a bed, he was with Kathleen, and I was with Miguel.
Nomenclature Ghazal
It was her fourth his second daughter to name,
she was tired, stumped he chose the name.
The nest, a battleground or
sanctuary at times
just spin the wheel to
determine today's name
Work done on the job is to earn
coins to live
what gets done each day is not
easy to name
What
are you called? Do you have a handle?
How
do you identify? Have you chosen a name?
He bestowed a crown of laurel upon her head,
her father’s ancestry is shared by more than a name.
I come from the Garden state, but it’s not apparent
the biota has all but disappeared
in its place are airports for planes
marine ports for cargo ships
miles of crisscrossing travel ports
leaving no room for flora and fauna
in its place are cancer alleys
smoke, smog, and putrid smells
nature can’t cope or compete
trafficking wins, levying a high toll
Passing the time looking out the window
wondering where all the frantic chipmunks go as
they slip in and out of rocks
Squirrels follow, toot sweet, rushing to and
frow
who and what and where do they go
Ferreting out hidden gems and morsels in them-there rocks
spotting a glut of hidden nuts, what a treasure trove
Migrating grey birds fly as one
flocking because there's strength in numbers
landing together to forage and feed
searching the ground for hidden nourishment
Seeing all this and basking in their beauty
a village filled with squirrels, chipmunks, and birds
living outside my window
Sensuality of Cooking
The
scents
the
texture
the
sizzle and simmer
the act of slicing
stirring
whisking
blending
oh,
and the kneading
oddly
soothing, in a Zen kind of way
wooden
spoons are best for gently stirring and mixing
in the Holy Trinity of cooking
onion
celery
green pepper
peeling
raw shrimps, shells saved
adding them to flavour the seafood broth
their natural salty-sea flavour releasing
their
scent fills the kitchen like
breaking
ocean
waves
Remembering to punch down the bread dough
after it magically rises above the bowl
dividing
shaping
forming
the dough in loaves
before its final journey into the over
the
labour intensity of meal preparation
a
workout as you cookout, complex and complicated
tasting and seasoning as all the flavours marry together
homemade soup and bread, simple comfort food
Bon Appetit
Laura Daniels writes for both adults and children. Founder of the Facebook blog The Fringe 999 - https://www.facebook.com/groups/399191694738673 - published daily and welcomes members to share their creative endeavors. She’s been published in the Visible Ink 2021/2022 Anthology, New Jersey Bards Poetry Review 2022, Topical Poetry, Smarty Pants Magazine for Kids, and many other literary journals. She’s an active member of Women Who Write, Jersey Poets, and the Livingston Writers Critique Group and can be found on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/thefringe999/?hl=en. Her writing explores transformation, nature, and slice of life. She lives with her family in Mount Arlington, New Jersey.
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