The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Tuesday and National Capitol Columns

Foraging Mardi Gras
By Lisa Russ Spaar

In Lenten overture, I float on tissue-pomped façade
of chicken-wire trailer, intoxications, fumes of gasoline,

liquor, & overwork, day scatting its gilt beads
into night's black-bound book, hinging every hope.

Aisles of wonder lead me, charcoal strokes
of thinned thicket, window flare. I'm writing toward you,

palms bloody with henna, through the fiercest neighborhoods.
I should be honest. My car’s parked at Food Lion

& I'm pushing a wire cart through the pyramids,
headless vials of wine, frozen meat in caskets

so oddly spousal I shut my eyes and whistle past them.
How long can this trip be if I already see its end?

Truly: I can't whistle. Yet hold tomorrow's ashes in my mouth,
hot as your blue limbs, a secret pendulum hung with silks.


I had an uneventful Monday of washing laundry that will get folded Tuesday, working on three different writing projects, chatting with a couple of friends, going to a doctor's appointment, and taking a lovely long walk in the woods near twilight. Older son managed to smash his laptop screen picking up the computer from the couch, which is bad news, and husband got his full bonus for the year at work, which is good news. Plus he made Indian food for dinner and I could enjoy it because my blood pressure was 122/78.

While waiting for the doctor, I depressed myself reading news from Wisconsin, Libya, Utah, and just now Guantanamo Bay. We watched Chicago Code and Harry's Law, though we were on the phone with my in-laws during much of the former so I don't remember much about what happened, and the latter had several ridiculous coincidences but also had Camryn Manheim so that was awesome. I am much more tired than I should be for no apparent reason, so here are some photos of the National Capitol Columns at the National Arboretum, and more tomorrow for Mardi Gras!


  • Poem for Saturday and Crab Apple Color

    Crab Apple Trees By Larry Schug I’m tempted to say these trees belong to me, take credit for blossoms that gather sunrise like stained glass…

  • Poem for Friday and Locust Grove

    The Good-Morrow By John Donne I wonder by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we loved? Were we not wean'd till then? But suck'd on country…

  • Poem for Thursday and Canal in Spring

    Happiness By Jane Kenyon There’s just no accounting for happiness, or the way it turns up like a prodigal who comes back to the dust at your…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded