The Rainbow Café
The Rainbow Café sits on a shabby main street
in a Mississippi town faded as last year’s leaves
but don’t be fooled by its appearance
at lunchtime, folks make their appearance
as if from nowhere, out of the empty street
lining up for fried chicken, catfish, and collard leaves.
Someone’s grandma sits in the corner reading tea leaves,
five dogs await their masters’ reappearance
panting in the heat of the dusty street,
pecan pie’s appearance, leaves the whole street sated.
The moon is laughing tonight
big belly jiggling, making his moonbeams
so rowdy their light dapples the meadow
as if cloud shadows raced across the meadow,
though, but for stars, the sky is clear tonight.
Boy, bolting out his window, grabs a moonbeam,
gallops the shivery, silvery moonbeam
steed through ghostly frost-kissed meadows,
matching need and imagination, riding tonight
into tomorrow’s moon-beamed, meadowed tonight.
I have fallen behind, opting for a road trip rather than my desk, thinking (foolishly) I could compose and post on the road. “Others do it,” I thought, “Why not I?” But (sadly) I underestimated my own stamina and focus. I have to admit I was slightly guilt-ridden, thanks to my never-to-be-sloughed-off “good girl”syndrome. The idea of a month being cruel bothered me. I simply could not shake my conviction that there was something inherently wrong about attributing evil to a season. A case of the priestess overruling the poet, I think. She set up such a block, I finally abandoned that prompt all together and concentrated on fried oysters and cold beer for the duration of my trip. I’m back at my desk now. Though technically its the eighth day, I’m still living in the Seventh playing catch-up.
I tried two tritinas. I’m finding them very difficult but fascinating. It’s really fun to discover a new form and I like the structure being based on words rather than meter, lines or syllables. It depends so much on hitting the right combination , which I haven’t achieved yet, but this is a form I’ll come back to. I think words holding several different meanings and homophones are the answer but, I’m too tired to play anymore right now. I think the Susannah poem is brilliant.