RAG SMELL. FIRE
By Joan Houlihan
RAG SMELL. FIRE smell. Bed blacked. Bowl.
The quiet come from living done.
Shadow built the walls, holed and cribbed with light.
Vine felt cracks and fingered in.
Were sky inside
and what the wind-holes left, a wind.
Ay walk the last. What were floor
heaves rock and root.
Flame-eaten walls, rubs of wood,
scraps the burn left licked
now licked with dirt.
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Friday was pretty quiet around here, with gorgeous crisp fall weather and storm cleanup in my neighborhood seemingly finished for now though we still have a couple of big trees down in people's yards. I wrote a review of Deep Space Nine's disappointing but pivotal "Life Support", did some clothing reorganizing (next week I have to do the Great Seasonal Closet Shift to reach the winter stuff in the back), took a walk and saw many deer eating still-mostly-green leaves blown off trees in the storm. Lots of people still have their pumpkins on their porches, to the pleasure of local squirrels and chipmunks.
Adam's girlfriend came with us to dinner at my parents' house (Chinese food from the new local restaurant) then we came home and watched the Hurricane Sandy benefit concert with Christina Aguilera, Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen, et al. I love that Billy Joel rewrote the lyrics to "Miami 2017" because of the storm. Afterward we watched Nikita, which I was very bummed to learn earlier this week has had terrible ratings this season and is in danger of cancellation. Some Black Hill Regional Park photos taken last weekend before the storm undoubtedly took down many of these leaves:
