Sunday Dinner

3/29/24 - 7/9/94

Sunday Dinner
For Mom

Pass the parmesan, Uncle Louie

and let's toast with the family chianti!

"Mia familia mangia con gusto

Genovese pasta con pesto"

Papa, may I be excused?

"Hey Franco, chew your food"

Papa, but I have a date!

"If he respects you, he will wait"

Aunt Maria, you're sitting so quiet

"Forgive her, she's on a diet"

Mama can't hear herself think

she just smiles and sips her drink.

Her family is together.

Writer's Block

She awaits

the rise of the moon

when the call of the wild

imbues creative energies

waiting to be set free.

The notebook paper

stares back at her

naked, a desolate wilderness

desperately longing

to be clothed

in artistic garb.

Her pen

a broken instrument

with which she holds on for life

yet falls dead within her fingers

and the paper sits bare, alone

clinging to nothingness

devoid of essence.

With the slow demise

of her cerebral fashionista

the paper seems familiar

as it mirrors the blank corridors

of her mind.

Sanitized by it's emptiness

both mind and paper

And the silence is deafening.

A quiet oasis begging

for the wind to breathe life

into this mindless desert,

yet the wind stifled

and her thoughts stand still

going nowhere.

Though enticing as it seems

this recycled slab of wood pulp

lies undistinguished

a bare bones form

without meaning,

just as her mind

sits unknown

in skeletal remains

without image.

And she writes.

4:00 am madness

Startled, I awaken in an anxiety born stupor. It's 4:00 a.m. Sunday morning. In the distance a siren announces a 911 while a car alarm bellows out of control. Cars race an uncontrollable rage through empty streets. Light flickers through my window yet I know there is no light outside other than the moon displaying it's devilish grin. Is it a warning? I scare myself into blind paralysis. Staring into oblivion my body is frozen with fear. The incessant ticking of the clock - a breathing crescendo drowning my pulse. Paper rustling outside my door though the wind silent. Is it the house settling? A raccoon rummaging? Or, is it my mind damning my sensibilities?

Haunting memories invade speaking to me in tongues, unexplained. Nocturnal entities without form parade the darkness. I shrink under the covers yet the unheard and unseen more frightening than the perception of reality I cannot escape. A sudden scream wails from a neighboring house and my senses freeze. It becomes difficult to breathe and my body shivers. Fear surrounds me. I sit up in my bed afraid of what torture lies ahead within my mind, outside my door. The wooden gate within the yard slams shut. Still, there is no wind. My heart races. Each nerve a pulsating tendril. Embraced by fear all I can do is wait for the arrival of day.

The first commuter train barrels down the street and I know dawn is near. The distinct sound of a plane overhead reminds me of a friend half a world away and I smile. The restlessness of the night fades and I fall into an apprehensive slumber knowing there was something out there, but what?

Tired, I awaken from a dream of which I cannot recall. For some reason my ex weighs heavily on my mind though I don't know why. Maybe it's because I miss the perfect yellow rose I'd receive every Sunday morning. I walk across the room and open my door to the courtyard breathing in the crisp fragrant floral foliage. The sun shines with a positive arrogance leaving me optimistic of the day's journey. Stepping outside I find perched upon my doorstep, a withered yellow rose.

nameless faces

Walking foreign steps

to the rhythm of taiko

the pulse of erhu

dancing buddhas.

Cantonese croonings

lotus flower soft

silk smooth

operatic chants.

Lanterns parade

a welcome smile

nameless faces

yet known.

Humid mist

Eastern breeze

incense fog

scents of life.

and the journey begins