Monthly Archives: August 2014

Outside There

David Hockney

Outside there’s a girl sitting at a small coffee shop table. Across from her sits a boy. An important boy. He’s reading and she’s typing. Flip. Flip. Tap. Flip. Tap. After a few minutes she looks up to make sure he’s still there. He is.


“Got it,” I see him mouth. His head leans forward inspecting the picture he just took. He looks up and grins. She smiles, not bothered, accustomed to being the subject in the frame of his camera. Her eyes return to her laptop, fingers tapping the keyboard again.

He keeps gazing at her. He says something. She looks up, eyes wide. She says three words and spins around the table, landing in his lap. His arms catching her waist. Her ankles crossed rocking from side to side. They are in a kind of rapture, via wavelengths, lightning, shocks, softness.

I’m inside looking out on this from my table. It’s such a private moment. I should turn my head but I don’t. I watch instead.

She’s dancing. Really. On the sidewalk in front of him. Her silk floral dress billows around her body. Between the skirt and boots are long legs and pink knobby knees in hiking boots that swallow her feet.

Love is its own flash mob.

– paris / art by david hockney

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Feasting / a poem by Elizabeth Garber


I am so amazed to find myself kissing you
with such abandon,
filling myself with our kisses
astounding hunger for edges of lips and tongue.
Returning to feast again and again,
our bellies never overfilling from this banquet.
Returning in surprise,
in remembering,
in rediscovering,
such play of flavors of gliding lips
and forests of pressures and spaces.
The spaces between the branches
as delicious as finding the grove of lilies of the valley
blossoming just outside my door under the ancient oak.
“I’ve never held anyone this long,” you said,
the second time you entered my kitchen.
I am the feast this kitchen was blessed to prepare
waiting for you to enter open mouthed in awe
in the mystery we’ve been given,
our holy feast.

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Bathing Abstract


My body is before me. I linger above the bath, a cylinder of light and water. I see my body. I am in my thoughts above my body and above my thoughts in a pool of bubbles collecting into lines of meaning trailing up and away into a soundless puddling at the surface; I am returning to my self in my body. Gently, quietly. In my skin and in my body in the water.

My soul surrounds my body from within my body. My thoughts slip in and out of my soul. My name is hidden; it dissolves. Everything outside my soul is what I call my life in the hours of my day. I am now completely at home in my body held all about me by my soul. The stillness of the moment is alive with my soul who knows who I am.

I come into a wordless knowing that God is just like me.

–  christopher woodhull / art by pia bramley

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