by Vera

BBQ - by Vera


"Of course you're invited," he said
yesterday.

But Lon is chinking bottles round the grill
with Da Boys,
his back to me,
that wide-stance arms-folded rocking posture
guys all do together.

Oh, he gestured with his elbow
to the cooler of beers,
before sweeping gracefully
back again to the posse.

Hospitality at its shortest.

And sitting alone,
I find to my horror
I'm picking up pebbles and tossing them -
the ultimate in
"I'm Friendless" entertainment.

Time to take off,
before I flounder in the webbing
of his low-slung chair.

Stretching,
I fling one last rock
toward Lon's feet
and saunter away back down-trail,
whistling.

by Carly

Jesusita Oranges - by Carly

They look like vivant orbs from space
resting on crushed cinders
of apocalypse,
these oranges in the ashes.

I wasn't here when it came this time
but oh lived through fire before,
snapping heated teeth,
flamedevil swirls seventy feet tall,
antithesis of thirst driving the gallop across gates and
swingsets and eucalyptus and
whole homes
to alight
here
here
and here,
leaving a green tree there
and there a wooden house unscathed by anything but
tender swirls of trailing smoke,
then back to torch the shed beside it -
or the house next door.

Brittany's house next door.

My house stands.
Brittany's is this -
chimney alone in a rectangle of saltandpepper crunch,
metallic winds and the strange scent of something sweet.

And I cry and curse the oranges
safe in their cheery skins,
aliens of the ashes.

by Kate

Volleyball Photo - by Kate

High five
in black and white,
captures historical,
(recently allegorical)
teammates.

by Anke

Launch Day - by Anke

Look at all these people
she knows.
All here for her
and maybe for me.

She's overwhelmed
I can tell,
and I think I'm overwhelmed too
because
I want to hide
or cheer and jump up and down
or throw up
but mostly
I'm grinning
from my spot at the top of the stairs.

We did it.
We are not furniture.