Fragments - Humility

Questions of Humility
by Timothy Pilgrim
Dream of a festival to honor
a great writer. Dozens of poets
lounge by a hot springs
hidden under trees. Hot water
mixes with cold, ringed stones
create pools of different heat.
All drink bourbon, wine, brandy,
the good stuff — it’s free.
They circle a fire, grow silent
in fading light. The great one
rises from steam, asks the poets
at his feet -- If I were to place
three poems high in night sky,
what question would you speak:
Which poems are placed there?
Or, Is mine among the three?
Memories that smell
like eucalyptus
by Wendy Tafur
I see a child playing
on a swing tied to the branches
of a eucalyptus tree. Her eyes on the horizon,
a loose grip on the ropes
like she trusts the wind will catch her
even if she lets go.
A song plays in her mind,
she closes her eyes, bends her knees, listens
to the Spanish guitar as she pushes herself
forward.
Orange, purple and pink, warm
dripping from every note; always consistent,
always different.
A leaf caresses the single tear
on her cheek before it falls on her lap.
Her feet touch the ground when she opens
her eyes,
holding the ropes with a tight grip
in that swing beneath memories that smell
like eucalyptus,
She no longer trusts the wind.
She brings the leaf to her lips
and there’s still time, but she swears she can
taste on it
every word she never said.
l’ uomo dei fiori
by Addison Lucia
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