Saturday, December 24, 2022
Saturday, November 12, 2022
Africans, White City, and a Pint of Guinness (the original version appeared in Canyon Voices Spring 2016)
Yes, that and the casual atmosphere. Take, for example, the young man with dreadlocks raining down from his head like the supple branches of a willow. Straddled on his stool as if horse riding, he nonchalantly angles himself toward an older gentleman two stools away. Now the older man places down his beer, turns toward his new mate, and a chat ensues.
Brought there by the winds, blown from east to west, she moved over the waters, the ocean blurring underneath as she speared through the air, headfirst, pointing at the farthest land. She knew not, she felt not, she consumed the many miles almost blindly. A young woman of a fuzzy mind, of sullen air. And airless, in that new land she remained, year and another year. Where her wings gained strength by and by. Year and another year. And she finally tiptoed into new air. Crisp air. Open air. And she began to breathe. Small swigs at first, deeper gulps at last. And she spread her wings wide and soared skyward. Above that new land. In that new air.