I open my eyes. 5:35 a.m. I close my eyes, and take inventory.
Right groin, an old catcher’s mitt, stiff, cracks in the leather.
Knees, throb.
Three middle toes on right foot, blistered. Raw.
This is about where Tanya Donelly would say: “But you can change your story / And throw a hand up from the mud.”
But that’s not how we roll here. No Tanya. No.
This story (or catalyst) starts Wednesday after dinner. The 7 pm to 8:30 pm witching hour(s). The Big Cat starts to pace, and circle. I want it. I need it. I crave it.
After taking inventory in the fridge, the cupboards, the pantry, none of the required provisions are available. I jump into the car and head to Palmer’s Market. Talenti Mint Chocolate Chip Gelato. (4 Pints). Nacho Cheese Doritos (Extra Large Bag). Chobani Fruit on the Bottom Yogurt, Pineapple flavored. Stonewall Kitchen Sour Cherry Jam (to chase the Yogurt). And, then, in the glass case: Donuts. Strawberry Jelly filled donuts.
The belt pulls the items towards the clerk. “Good evening Sir. Do you have a Palmer’s Card?” A wee bit of junk food with Dinner, Sir? “Sir, I don’t see a 2 pound bag of Domino Premium Pure Cane Granulated Sugar here. Shall I run and get it for you? And, Sir, in Aisle 3, we have hypodermic needles and rubber hose tie-offs. Step behind the counter here with me, and I’ll inject it for you, it will only take a minute. Continue reading “Running. With Jelly Donuts.” →
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This is the blessing for the first garden tomato:
Those green boxes of tasteless acid the store
sells in January, those red things with the savor
of wet chalk, they mock your fragrant name.
How fat and sweet you are weighing down my palm,
warm as the flank of a cow in the sun.
You are the savor of summer in a thin red skin.
~ Marge Piercy, from “The Art of Blessing the Day” in The Art of Blessing the Day: Poems with a Jewish Theme. © Knopf, 1999.
