by Barbara Sparks
EARLY MORNING
sweeping streets, unlocking doors
accepting daily deliveries of meat and fish
Chinese business community bustles
for anticipated customers who will buy their products
removed from hectic schedules
of surrounding New Yorkers
morning light bathes open
stalls with yellow brightness
Zen Buddhist temple door open
invite all to seek blessings of the day
offerings are made
incense lit and presented all directions
youngsters play on jungle gyms
watchful parents smile at each other
talking silently so not to be distracted
from their charges
elders at adjacent park begin their day
grey haired men playing mahjong
grouped around concrete tables
surrounded by watchers
women dressed in blouses and pants
separate from the men
sit at tables under locust trees
playing cards
tourists begin their migration
into the neighborhood
carrying cameras and their curiosity
plastic bags emerge from the shops
filled with cultural artifacts
by Barbara Sparks
RETURN
Unlocking the bolted door
a month-long vacation ended
easy footfalls over wooden threshold
set homecoming in motion
eyes adjust to enclosed space
pause, register the moment of return
furniture arranged as it had always been
bare dining table save for two candle sticks
Bag of Starbucks coffee, fresh box of filters, can of evaporated milk
note from my daughter
kitchen table welcome home
a single note of change
A cool subdued womb
drapes drawn against afternoon sun
quiet, serene, private, somehow intimate
uncomplicated at first glance
Delicate wispy threads ensnare a daddy-long-legs
desiccated, unsightly legs bent at thirty-degree angles
hung from kitchen cabinet skirt
miniscule flies, pale green mayfly abandoned
A feast for pesky spiders
infiltrate dark corners
dramas unfolded in summer heat
the housekeeper was away
Spinning, dipping, swinging from crook to crook
angle to angle
mustard seed size miniatures captured by invaders
lured with promises of pleasure
Peace Lily leaves hang
draped over rim of plastic pot
slouched like an old soldier
bent at the waist no longer able to stand
Dry rust stains
no water to quench thirst
were there shouts or whimpers of anguish
as roots fingered for water in sweltering heat
Remnants of minor tragedies
observed and hidden universes
workings of insects and spiders, plants
and cycles, a canvass of spectacle
The bedroom clock continues clicking digital minutes
no blinking light shouting power shortage
time has not stood still
alarm clock signals no alarm
White down covered bed
plump silk pillows lure to
rejuvenate weary body
welcome home
by Win Dermody
On a hilltop overlooking the confluence of Hellroaring Creek with the Yellowstone River
WIND
The wind, unrelenting, timeless
Caresses my ear
I hear the sound of the trees singing, dancing
Before I feel its touch
It comes from somewhere nowhere
In mysterious rhythms
Sometimes like giant swells upon an endless sea
Sometimes like tiny ripples on a pond
When it demands the moment
It overpowers all
But in these calmer intervals
The birds have their say
Their songs like gentle solos
In this symphony