Greetings From San Lorenzo/Silver City: What Not Driving Cab Does For Me & Three Poems

I am writing to you while sitting in a Silver City bookstore, the "Silver City Bookshop" to be exact, the nice proprietor allowing me to use his wifi instead of sitting in a coffee shop listening to the annoying chitter-chatter of the generic masses.  As much as possible I am avoiding thinking about cab driving but taxi buddy Rick texted me Wednesday night to tell me 15 fares were waiting.  Us taxi veterans know exactly what that means, nothing good for those wanting a quick cab.  Oh well!

What being away from the toplight means I can leisurely think minus constraint and schedule, allowing  my mind to freely work at its own pace.  The past two days I have been wandering around the east side of the Rio Mimbres (River), crossing over to welcoming fields and hills.  The highlight was a black and white woodpecker searching for a late afternoon snack.  And I was pleased indeed to meet the creature, only a little bit sorry disturbing your mealtime pleasure.

Three Poems

What you have before you are the results of what I was just telling you, the time to mull over anything and everything roving in my brain.

                                                                Returning to Jane, page 261

                         Returning to Jane nearly five months later---have I missed you Jane?

                         missing your schoolgirl manner, your naive charm?

                         Remembering now from 1965 reading a comic book version---

                         your patience with Mister Rochester about to be disappointed,

                         his ghost from an unpleasant past about to make your acquaintance.

                                                                                Ants

     Formation of language begins with the opening of a door, my door today leading to my desert                     yard, the large anthill to my left telling me words are working hard today, small mouths                               configuring consonants and vowels down, down to their linguistic factory propagating what we                   will be saying this summer before our tongues pronounce the results.

                                                                          disarray

A neighbor's warning foretold what I found---

                 memories of a hasty last dinner now a month old gracing our table---encrusted plates, bowls, cups and silverware left for me,

                                                   (he knew I was coming)

and everywhere glass and plastic bottles and stacks of shoes, clothing and various important papers littering the couch and floor, 

                                       everywhere his distress clearly written: 

                                                         "I was waiting for you!"

                                                   "Don't you, don't you see me!?"

 

_________________________________________________________________

Note:  The spacing in "Ants" is not intentional but due to software.  My attempt at remedy failed but the gaps remind me of tunnels in the anthill, so it seems the ants are in control and not me.  Anyone dealing with ants in your kitchen know how true that is, ants my favorite "robotic" insect, never stopping, always moving, and in the poem, always writing.   

And of course the Jane I am referring to is Jane of the novel "Jane Eyre," something I will always have a connection to due to Carol Anne walking with me in Haworth, England, Summer 2001, with her telling me she was one of the Bronte sisters.  If I hadn't known already, her pronouncement explained everything that happened between us. "Oh My (English) God!"