By Miriam Easterling
Photography by Pawl English
Scaling Walls
Honey-slathered souls
Like Pippi, we scale up walls
sticky, sickly, sweet
Hallowed
This chapel can stir me a reverie,
Pouring my past into my present bowl.
I recollect an anxious tot pawing
Eagerly through Creator praising, soul
Saving Hymns. Small eyes peer at words before
A simple visage. Through sounds exotic,
These carols are carved into her small core.
Divine melodies become rhetoric.
Now I hear the clamor of clanging tongues;
The tom and snare hammer out common beats,
Complimenting the rusty guitar strums.
Members will rise and fall out of their seats.
I shut eyes and wonder what child binds,
Alleluia to the back of my mind.
In Pisa
Ninety is too divine for us
who work clumsily with thumbs
eyes blinded by the coming night
and feeble minds
more obtuse than right.
On Side Streets
I envy the night-gowned day walkers
dreaming of crystal palaces
while walking leaden streets.
Too awake to open their eyes,
these pajama’d prophets
announce the unrealized idealism of house shoes |
