KATHLEEN O'HARA PODZIMEK
YEAH

There are too many square out there
going nowhere, twisted love of money

Tied to the madness of a daddy-o, y'know?
crazy cats who dig the establishment, no way

Screaming cops beating on hep chicks. Hey!
snap, snap. Clang, clang. Tap, tap.

Wake up to Everyman, Joe
the bong of demonstrations, man

The beat of freedom and love and laughter
no jazz about twisted lawyers and incredible parables

Heh, I need to live the dream, no drags on me
take the bus to revelation, y'know?

No handouts, perform the journey, the possibilities
Wake-up to cool rhythm and blues

Not going anywhere, man
no strange, brooding madness for me

YOU DIG, JOE?

ANNE M. HUDSON
When This Talking Becomes an Unpacking
For Anne Gurian, M.D.

"Let's open this drawer,"
you said, pointing.
"This drawer is important."
"Why, I haven't opened this drawer in years,"
I said.
"I can't remember what's in it,
just some old things, I think,
some clothes I haven't looked at for a long time."

We opened the drawer.
From the depth of the layers in the back
wedged tightly
we began to pull the garments out.
Difficult work
a veritable labor
pushing and pulling
a birthing with blood and wracking pains.

We found blue things,
no surprise,
blue the color of the sky's reflection in water
midnight blue
royal blue
baby blue
blue the color of hope
and the color of tears
faded, stained, outdated,
spilling out in profusion,
so many shades of blue,
a rainbow unto itself.

Then we found the red raiment,
folded up into a small hard square,
covered by other things,
silk satin, unfolding and rippling in the air between our hands.
We lift it up, admiring its ferocious flame
of a color, as we unfurl it,
as we unfurl it high and wide.