Three Experiences

No.1 - Summer 1951

qivering between mystery and perfection
her trillion secrets touchably alive
comes this miracle of summer nights,

my favorite, grape-flavored, kool-aid aunt
struggles, arms heavy with hand made quilts
spilling chaos of riotous colors, made whole,
again, into patterns of loving order,
opens them to fullness with a muffled snap
to forms rafts that float away upon
a cool green sea of St. Augustine.

one last ah-lee, ah-lee oxen free
she summons all spawn as a priestess
of some obscure cabal might call her
faithful to prayer, she calls them
each by name to leave the land
of kick-the-can

they gather bare foot to seat themselves
near the elders of their tribe setting sail
into the warm evening to listen to stories
their people have retold for generations

the meek, quiet, unassuming, encouraged to tell
of such and such upon a time, not so long ago,
remember, no love left out, complete the circle,
the timid become great orators of tales,
strange and miraculous

my father begins his story of mystery,
exotic lands and uncommon characters
familiar tones of worlds revisited
carefully listening, drifting into alpha states,
soft breathing lowered heart rates
caught-up within his words

suddenly, the sky explodes,
a giant orange ball, blue(flashing)green,
then red, then blue again, no sound,
the yard awash with light,twirls around twice
on no defined axis, flashes again,
blinks, moves away (swiftly)
becomes a moving sky iota,

three of its kind conjoin, separate
to play hopscotch across the horizon,
a strange ballet, rejoin, blink once,
winks out into the quiet of the night,
our stunned silence the only echo

afterwards, it seemed so strange to me
no one said a word in exclamation
it was never discussed by our family
all stories were forgotten
we simply went to bed


Waddie Greywolf