poetryrepairs 15,02:019

JOHN HORVATH Jr : Bottlecaps in the Blountstown JUNIOR FOODS Parking Lot
RUTH DAIGON : To Kiss the Earth

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Bottlecaps in the Blountstown JUNIOR FOOD Parking Lot

(7 A. M. in the hot August South the process continues. Boys who buy RC Cola drop bottlecaps onto the soft asphalt. Pressed into the dark asphalt, their labels worn off by bare feet, the caps reflect the light and the heat of the sun.) Layer upon layer of bottle debris under the noontime pick-ups parked on the hot lot. Cargoes of carpenters, masons, job-bosses covered with sweat, sit beneath the honeysuckled, kudzu-thick fences along the sides of the store. Layer upon layer of bottlecaps caught in the soft tar and dusty clay recalling cotton and soybean fields of bare feet, mansions and suburbs or workers. Moonfaces munching on moonpies. Late night swarms of mosquitoes and moths vie for the lamplight like beaus and belles under moonlit summer nights before kudzu, rebellion, before urban sprawl, and migrating tourists whose quaint local lore trinkets-- confederate flag beachtowels, rebel yell ashtrays, antebellum porcelain ladies-- begin to replace the once-thought-to-be endless layers upon layers of bottlecaps crushed underfoot into the asphalt.

published in The Free Cuisenart
poetryrepairs #209 15,02:019


she’s in the corner now pursuing darker thoughts straining to see the crack of light between the bricks it will open into the other place she says a safe place I know it doesn’t exist but she is convinced and pursues her witchcraft through the night to combat that which only she can see sometimes she stands on the dark landing steering into the cracked mirror she swears she sees the souls of the dead their faces painted on her own and she says she hears the screams of the banshee calling my name but I hear nothing and see only her reflection and mine

poetryrepairs #209 15,02:019

To Kiss the Earth

The moon sings the mountain down to the sea as the sun wraps itself around the horizon. Air runs like a hand lightly across the body. Voices pirouette like echoes in a braid of flowing tongues. We trace the flicker of dragonflies skimming the water, their imprint light as ash. We hold fruit with its sweet flesh, sac of seeds, silky membrane fitting the palm perfectly. And it is time to kiss the eEarth and count freshly painted stars running ocean ward. Here where there is only stillness, my love I wish upon you these delights the lotus moon still blooming as we exchange liquid looks as dark as antique honey time, calm and airy and, oh, to wake up naked in the garden and fall in love again, easily, so easily.

poetryrepairs #209 15,02:019

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