Tuesday, January 31, 2006

How to perceive red

How to perceive red

Consider the persistence of memory,
how once seen, a red moon lingers
with a cinnamon-like tingle.
Remember the black widow’s
crimson hourglass in the garage
behind your cherry-bright bicycle.
Conjure the blood-lost wrench
of miscarriage: how the rose-
leather sofa, too soft for sorrow,
held the cast of a ruddy sunset.

Then there’s the leaden weight of rust,
how the muffler lost its battle with snow
and salt and dropped unexpectedly
because the pipes were rotten.
Your scarlet gloves sponged
the road’s grime and never washed clean.
Bleach was not a good idea. Fuschia
is not your favorite color.

Recollect the paint of death
on the ocher mummy, her curled
fingers stopped over the heart
with tragic calm. You could
not bear the quiet and fled
to the paintings, found Rubens’
Samson and Delilah. Her florid gown
dabbed his slumbered skin in carmine
shadows. There is no forgetting
the abandon of reason for passion.

Witness the autumn leaves dropped
like garnets on the front stoop,
how Mars rose in the east at dusk.
See the cardinal poised on the sill,
vermilion plumage puffed thick
as your son’s maroon scarf
against your arm.
Consider the persistence of love,
how once felt, it’s coral glow lingers
in memory’s quiet room, how red
is the color of the heart.

© 2005 Christine Klocek-Lim

Saturday, January 28, 2006

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Monday, January 23, 2006

Monday, January 16, 2006

Sunday, January 15, 2006

How to shop online

Whatever you do, avoid falling for Amazon.com's heart-pounding message:

Wait! Add $1.75 to your order to qualify for FREE Super Saver Shipping.

I need two new calendars. I procrastinated. Squinting at the miniature January that appears on all December 2005 calendars is bad for the eyes, by the way.

Thus, my foray onto Amazon and my nail-biting refusal to succumb to
FREE Super Saver Shipping. I searched for 45 minutes for that perfect, under $5 item to add to my cart. I searched in vain. I bought my calendars and paid for shipping: $4.98.

It hurt a lot. Even now the faint, nagging thought that I did wrong festers in the back of my head. . .

Friday, January 13, 2006

How to turn thirty-six in November

Consider the mouse cuddled in the mower,
the last feral leaf of autumn that thwaps
the ground in a night of soaking rain.
Walls cannot bear this.
Bricks break down when the heart
slips in the inexplicable wet,
when a whole year can turn over
in a sharply fickle wind.
Only the mouse will notice
the first faint sparks of frost
littered like miniature stars
on morning ground.