Tuba man

His face a smudge, eyes under monstrous hat
Invisible, performed his daily chore
Of packing up a cart, a folding chair
And brassy instrument,
Unsinkable musician, wher’art thou?
Are you at Pearly gates performing songs of joy
Or roaming still, invisible, among the crowd
that so oft despised your artless and imperfect tunes?
I’m saddened by your absence, keenly missing
the clownish cheer and the friendly mien
and long and sonorous vibration you called music.
I’m sorry that I passed you by
Indifferent, self-important, in a hurry,
Without a word, without a friendly touch.
Here I am standing at the door
Here is the orphaned city waiting
in sorrow that is born of deep and silent void
And lo! A boy puts lips
onto the heavy mouthpiece
Of his ridiculous and shiny
tuba.
December 26, 2008

Christmas Tree

The ever-repeating ritual: floors scrubbed clean
In the anticipation of the arrival of the Christmas visitor
Into our souls and homes, her fragrant boughs still captured
In ropes like a fantastic wild bird;
Innocence and faithfulness overcome the rapid flow of time,
And the glass beads, old, touched with black on the chipping edges
tinkle faintly, stretching magically a path into lost childhood
where I, very little, in a silk puffy dress
stand on the edge of the sofa, barely breathing with happiness,
following the flight of my mother's hands
stitching silver bells on the pink hem.
The house is filled with the aroma of chocolate and tangerines,
father is crowning the tree with a star,
presents await in paper bags
and fists are full of candy.
Then - the bliss of sitting quietly, in the dark,
waiting for the miracle of transfiguration
when the ruby, sapphire and emerald lights
spring to life on disappearing branches.
Tissue paper and cotton wool, boxes of memories
Among the dry whisper of pine needles and tinsel
Golden globes, a mushroom and pouting fish
birds, Harlequins, tiny churches, benevolent angels
And babes in their blankets of sparkling confetti

My son is trimming the tree

Snow at night

Snow fell like a pause between a breath and a heartbeat
Listless, inexplicable, pristine,
The white maiden pages of streets before dawn
Scincillated palely, promising magic
Of new beginnings.
Cars by the sidewalks froze
Under thick blankets, enchanted monsters,
Hunching before a pounce.
Empty parks peered into the white silence,
Zealously guarding rabbit tracks
And the summer-time benches of lovers.
Trees stopped in the windless quiet,
Dropped their last yellow leaves
Into the snow and ice,
Frozen, fragile,
Like hard candy and equally bright.
Puddles stifled by frost, loomed black
Like negatives of lost sunny days…
A homeless man from Renton can no longer remember
A warm home that was his just three months ago
Policemen in heavy black coats
Look like Malevitch’s black square
Awkward in their attempt
To help
Ice on his blanket
Tarp, covering
Remnants of personal possessions
Snow
And oblivion

Snow storm? Bah! Humbug!

I was extremely surprised to learn, upon arriving to my classroom, that the Seattle schools had been closed - apparently, while I was still driving! I am no meteorologist, but even I could see the clear skies - and almost no ice on the roads. Considering that my school sits on top of the Queen Ann Hill, it was obvious that other, more accessible schools would be in good shape, either. But the Gods of the children were stronger today - and they were granted their wish: no school! Mom stays at home! Let's watch a movie!
Actually, some did go to the movie theaters - and to the malls... A freezing rain started to fall around 5 in Lake City neighborhood, but about 10 it began to die out... So, what is the big deal with the snow in Seattle?
My guess is the transportation - or the lack of it. Who wants to drive around on slippery slopes of the city cut by multiple bridges, in gusting winds? And so the legend of the snow storm is born...Well, on the other hand, I am enjoying myself by the fireplace...

The tall historical bridge of dull gray concrete that is stretching between Queen Ann and Freemont neighborhoods is known to Seattlites not only as the Aurora Bridge, but also as the Suicide Bridge. During past decade at least 39 people leaped to their deaths into the dark churning waters of the Lake Union - or into the parking lots and rooftops nearby. This is the bridge that witnessed the bus hijacked by a madman go over the rail... While the city is still pondering how to suicide-proof the bridge walkway, the bright yellow boxes with emergency telephones were placed on the bridge in the hopes that the suicide might pick up the phone. In November, another person plunged to death from the bridge.

Early twilight

Multilayered clouds of all shades of storm
bleached the lake and the city
to the same dull silver,
left it twitching in agitation and fear
pierced by the red-and-white snakes
of the highways.
The wind threw handfuls of black birds
into windshields,
gigantic firs stretched their dark looming arms
in a sinuous macabre dance.
Early twilight swallowed all colors
painted dark circles under tired eyes
masked familiar faces with heavy gray make-up.
Damp cold numbed the fingers,
the concrete rails rose for the occasion,
the rain denied vision
and so
it was impossible
to see
on the bridge
the hope of a yellow box
with a telephone

To my friend

Caressing glimpses of thoughts
scanning the words
images of the vain busy days
and low quiet echoes
of a heartbeat in the twilight of the empty rooms
golden evenings
floors like honey
conversations
about the most sacred
and the most mundane
are left behind somewhere
the overwhelming
separation
in the physical space
rolled with the red apples
from one coast to the other
fell with a wall
of the bright autumn leaves
eclipsing the other time.
And only the moon,
the all-knowing crone
shed her pale light
on my secret path
to the new house.

Homeless in December

A homeless woman is leafing through
The yellow pages of her newspaper
Her face is bruised, worn and shriveled
Like a forgotten pear
Under a tree.
What long-lost news is she searching for?
What story keeps her
Lips moving?

Equally homeless dogs trot by
Unperturbed
Preoccupied with their own woes,
And the passers-by
Scorch her with indifference.
The city is getting ready for Christmas.