what we talk about//with whom//&why

.

“some more juice?”
“hmm”

that’s the only thing they say

for hours//years //a century–
on the other table

while i spread
tons of butter on my roll
drink XpointXpoint cups of coffee
that i share
with a lady i don’t know

browse through two basquiat books,
paint a blistering blue wall with a yawning wildcat stretching over it
beyond the line—
a woman with a knitted cap walks by

while i fold tons of napkins into globes
and giant sailboats

the big guy in worker pants
chin sunk to his chest snores, gurps
flickers his lids,
his workworn hands rest folded in his lap

when did they lose
the thread?
“another juice?”

an egg melts silent on her lips

&i fold one more globe,
hand a hot soup in a plastic mug
to the homeless guy
at Rosenthaler Platz sub station
&consider giving my eyesight to the blind

“life’s not so bad” i say
“talk about the small things
that will grow
into trees with some significance one day”

but they can’t hear me

30 responses to “what we talk about//with whom//&why

  1. Wow.. I so admire how you draw poetry from the meetings of your day. I sometimes dream that I could see with eyes as observant as yours, there is a wandering between an inner and outer world that became even more vivid together with your art.

  2. there are times i wish they could hear…those that seem shell shocked, or have just given in to life…the walking dead…or maybe not even that far…a rut…they got to comfortable with life and it lost its umf…

  3. I enjoyed yet another slice of your trip to Berlin. I like the way you make us see the little details that adorn the days. I can so relate to the string of cups of coffee. Great painting and wonderful colors, Claudia!

  4. We talk sometimes on different levels and from different perspective like if live in different worlds… ~ Love the connection you make here…lovely dreamy cat on your sketch ~ Thanks for visiting/commenting on my seemingly awaking wordpress blog…Smiles

  5. So often it is those small things that grow into trees with significance. You don’t realize it at the time, but but looking back you do. Everything starts out small!

  6. Hmm…it appears that WP has removed me from you followers list…so I’ll sign up again…thought it was weird that I hadn’t seen any poems form you lately…I was starting to worry so just checked….have to go back now and see what else I’ve been denied….guess I should make so much fun of the NSA.

  7. I specially like : paint a blistering blue wall with a yawning wildcat stretching over it- And the wisdom of small things growing into trees someday ~

  8. This may be my favorite of your works of art–even though it has only one building in it! I love the contrast of your busy hands and mind with the still people within eyes’ reach. I know sometimes we are in worlds of our own, and maybe it is true that they have lost the spark and ability to hear the spirit–but isn’t it also possible the workingman, for example, is just bone weary and needing to rest? (Your blue house makes me think of Freda Kahlo’s’s in Mexico City.)

  9. First, I really like the painting..So many shades of blue..I like the thought that small things can grow into something significant..you just never know what will
    take form.

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