drumming class
for an hour and a half, it’s wood and skin and metal
faces forgotten, we breathe through our wrists
and the spaces between our bones. tied together with time
we pummel desire ’til it sings
for an hour and a half, it’s wood and skin and metal
faces forgotten, we breathe through our wrists
and the spaces between our bones. tied together with time
we pummel desire ’til it sings
cold seeps up through floor
damp soaks bones heart
drums with dawn bird song
rain-breath-sound
for blg
taking advantage of a break in the rain, i delight
in a riot of blossoms. spring, indeed!
in such a tough-love neighborhood as this,
who knew there were so many prayer flags?
do we tell our child she’s singing out of tune?
or encourage her babble? when do we
become accountable for our attempts to sing?
or an arbiter of taste?
if you’re hungry in north oakland/temescal, you can’t go wrong at pyung chang tofu house. i could eat the stoneware bibimbab every day. many tiny plates of various kimchees. good korean beer. barley tea. i always fail to stop eating before i am satisfied. the tables are big and sturdy enough for a one year old to crawl on, too, in case you were wondering.