Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Thinking of St. John’s

Summer, as if I were a dry riverbed

              that remembers the rain,

                             or the dust on your face

                      and hands.

(first publication)

“Thinking of St. John’s” added to Poems, Slightly Used.
In the Forum: Spurtz, Dartz, and Mertz.


all ways 11 o'clock said...

William - ...and I picture
a small wind storm, people working the arid soil. A man looks up, his face streaked with sweat rivulets.

I like coming here for your poems and drawings. Allways you paint a picture for me.

Thank you.


William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Robert. Sweat and arid ground in this image, but yours is a rich, fertile mind.

Janice said...

As I read your words my mind drew a sketch of the worn out farmers from the dust bowl era. Everything turning to dust even the dust itself becoming a finer grain blowing with the slightest breeze. Dried up wells and riverbeds their cracked and arid dirt a reflection of human skin that has been out in the hot summer sun to long...

I need a tall glass of iced tea right now but I love how you get my thoughts stirred up William :)

nouvelles couleurs - vienna atelier said...

poignant ...

William Michaelian said...

Janice, your beautiful interpretation has me wanting ice tea too. I love where you and Robert are going with this.

Thank you, Laura. As you know, there are those times when memory, nature, and emotion are one, as if they are a kind of flower.

-K- said...

As is usually the case, I really enjoyed what you wrote in your bio ("About"). As you say, the ease and immediacy of blogs never ceases to amaze me.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Kevin. I love it. And as proof of that immediacy, let me add that I also loved watering our squash, peppers, and eggplant this morning, which are finally coming to life with the (somewhat) warmer weather we’re having. The tomatoes, though, are still lagging behind. I might have to raid yours some night when you’re out taking those magical pictures of yours. After all, what’s a thousand miles between friends?

Woman in a Window said...

drawn so easily
in so few words
and yet
the dust,
it remains.


William Michaelian said...

Erin, that dust, once in my lungs, is now in my bones.