Monday, November 6, 2017

Space Dust and Human Ashes (Part Two)
The coast of northern California is my all-time happiest place. I used to live in Fort Bragg and take visitors to see Glass Beach, a glittering, multicolored remnant of the town dump--multicolored glass bits and ceramic beads stretching along the shore still being polished by the waves. 

I've also visited the ruins of the Roman port Caesarea Maritima in Israel.

Miss Ogyny Attends the Olympics

Wedding rings? 
Back when I taught journalism at College of the Redwoods, I told my students that once they found the story their goals were to get it right and make it interesting. Recent reporting on women competing at the Olympics has been interesting, but not quite right.  Women make up 45-percent of the competitors, and more than half of the U.S. athletes at the games this year are female. But as Washington Post reporter Petula Dvorak points out, that doesn't mean they'll be treated equally. In case you missed it,

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

Some Days, You Wear the Egg Salad

Last Friday, I splattered egg salad on my foot while rushing to make a lunch to take to a last-minute subbing job. Here's the good thing: I was wearing crocs. For fashion-challenged readers, that translates to rubber shoes. The not-so-good thing . . . I called Carl over to have him lick it up. He's very accommodating that way. (If you haven't concluded that Carl is a dog, your life is a lot more interesting than mine.) And I didn't have to slow down in my race to eighth-grade science. But still. Is it really better to have dog slobber on your foot instead of foodstuff?

It wasn't until I got to school that I discovered that while my shoes were egg-salad free, not true for the horse poop that I'd traipsed through in the barn in my goin-ta-town rubber shoes instead of my shit-kickin', steel-toed rubber boots.

Sunday, September 17, 2017

Marble Stairs

Hey, you builder of marble stairs,
Look at your hands when you think of love;
Behind your eyes hide the secret of stones
And the baffling fits and turns of your woman's love,
The fickle patterns that it weaves
Into the fabric of your life.

When you bend over tiles of mosaic witchery
That should outlast the tread of passing time,
You see how well your hands have done,
But will they ever be smooth again
As in those days when all you built
Were dream towers in the sun?

Ah, to hold her hands again...
Sweet passage towards the rosy end...
Soon, soon, my love, the stones
Around you cry, echoing your own:
I shall be happy then.

Poor, poor builder of marble stairs.

Bienvenido Nuqui Santos

San Francisco, 1990s

#poetry #bensantos #bienvenidosantos #marblestairs #marlismanleybroadhead

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Can I Get You Anything Before I Go, Perhaps a Purloined Pumpkin?

There's really no other way to look at it: I'm a thief.

I didn't pay for it; it wasn't mine; and still I took it.

A big orange pumpkin sat all alone on the very bottom of a cart in the parking lot cart return at Target. Really big. One you could carve the cast of the Rocky Horror Picture Show into.


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