Respond 17: Caterina

Cupcakes

 

-for my grandmother-

 

An image uncovers a memory,

one glowing that special halcyon glow,

protector-distorter of memories archived in childhood.

You, in the kitchen that was all blues.

Or was it greens? Irrelevant.

What I remember is you:

Your smile. Your hands.

Hands that had stories folded into their creases,

as yet unfolded by Child Me.

Your hands have become my definition of hands.

And the cupcakes. Butterfly cupcakes.

Vanilla sponge, light as Soph’s giggles,

with the top cut off and halved.

Spread with jam, usually strawberry, somehow

still smelling of sun. Then cream.

Then your hands would transform the two golden halves

into butterfly wings that perched on top,

carrying your message to Always Me:

“I love you.”

Create 16: Caterina

So Much of the World

by Gregory Djanikian

 

So much of the world exists
without us

the mountain in its own steepness

the deer sliding
into the trees becoming
a darkness
in the woods’ darkness.

So much of an open field
lies somewhere between the grass
and the dragonfly’s drive and thrum

the seed and seedling,
the earth within.

But so much of it lies in someone
standing alone at the edge of a field
with a life apart

feeling for a moment
the plover’s cry
on the tongue

the curve and plumb
of the apple bough
in limb and bone.

So much of it between
one thing and another,

days of invitation,
then of release and return.

Respond 14: Rachael

Leaf: noun

1 a (1) : a lateral outgrowth from a plant stem that is typically a flattened expanded variably shaped greenish organ, constitutes a unit of the foliage, and functions primarily in food manufacture by photosynthesis (2) : a modified leaf (as a bract or sepal) primarily engaged in functions other than food manufacture
b (1) : foliage (2) : the leaves of a plant as an article of commerce
2 : something suggestive of a leaf: as
a : a part of a book or folded sheet containing a page on each side
b (1) : a part (as of window shutters, folding doors, or gates) that slides or is hinged (2) : the movable parts of a table top
c (1) : a thin sheet or plate of any substance : lamina (2) : metal (as gold or silver) in sheets usually thinner than foil (3) : one of the plates of a leaf spring

Respond 8: Caterina

DAD

There is a story my mother likes to tell
About the time when I was a baby and you forgot
That I was sitting at the end of your outdoor lounge chair- you know,
the ones made of plastic, for lounging around
beside pools- and you
Stood up
And I
Flew
And if she hadn’t caught me
I would have died.
You still forget me.
The consequences are not as dire
But I hope one day to +++ fly +++ to a place with no
“Why?”

A quick poem in response to Vicki’s photograph, 5/07/14

CREATE 6: CATERINA

HIM

Your  eyes, blue, empyreal blue, empyreal radiance, golden haired and silken tongued,

you moved inside me, a movement that moved me.  A new space was formed

and forever after echoed emptily, reminiscent.

Now my shadow, frightened by its length, by its darkness, thinks it must be

Ravens fleeing the cage of my body.

What is not a reference to you? Empyreal blue, sky is your eyes, the soil the colour of desire.

Desire is you. Soil is you. You laugh easily and joyously like a bird. Birds are you. Ravens.

I echo. I am the sound of the moon when it wanes.

Poem by Caterina Leone

We like a challenge. We live to create. We choose to respond.