Moillion ~ Gale Antokal
Tulips by Robin Robertson
Sifting sand in the Starsign Hotel
on 96th and Madison,
trying not to hear the sirens; the heart’s
fist, desire’s empty hand.
The room awash with its terrible light;
a sky unable to rain. Cradling a glass
of nothing much at all, it’s all
come down to this: the electric fan’s
stop-start –the stalled, half-circle twist
of draft over the bed; the sea spill
of sheets. The head in storm. Look
at what’s beached here on the night-stand:
a flipped photograph and a silk scarf, a set
of keys. These tulips, loosening in a vase.
~ Hazel Hall 1886-1924
When the dawn unfolds like a bolt of ribbon
Thrown through my window,
I know that hours of light
Are about to thrust themselves into me
Like omnivorous needles into listless cloth,
Threaded with the heavy colours of the sun.
They seem altogether too eager,
To embroider this thing of mine,
Into the strict patterns of an altar cloth;
Or at least to stitch it into a useful garment.
But I know they will do nothing of the kind.
They will prick away,
And when they are through with it
It will look like the patch quilt my grandmother made
When she was learning to sew.
Easter (Soldier Watering Tulip), 1918 ~ Norman Rockwell
In memory of Bryan Goutouski
An abstract aerial view of a gaggle of geese flying over a river delta, Southern Iceland. ~ Antony Spencer
In the northern slopes of the Tian Shan Mountains in China, a river carves its way through a canyon.
Photograph by Tugo Cheng via National Geographic