A Poem by Korea J. Brownstein
One door opens.
What I thought I should have done
Sticks in my side.
I could have done better–
I thought I did enough.
It wasn’t what they wanted.
I didn’t do enough
The door opens
I want to get through.
I say that I can learn,
But I cannot.
Numbers surrounds me
Like dirty clouds,
like dirty words.
I’m confined.
A Poem by Donal Mahoney
Families come
on Memorial Day
depending on the weather;
otherwise the Fourth of July,
if it’s not too hot.
You can hear them coming,
adults in the rear,
reminiscing and talking,
children who can read
announcing the names
on the stones until they
discover the right one.
Then they shout.
Adults bring flowers,
placing them softly
in front of the stones
near our heads.
Children stick little
flags from parades
in our waistlines.
Some ladies bring towels
and wipe down the stones;
others towelettes to remove
gunk from the lettering.
All mean well and we
appreciate the visit and wish
we could say something.
It’s a thrill to hear voices.
Otherwise it’s lawn mowers,
leaf blowers, snow plows
the rest of the year.
A Poem by Randall Rogers
the minds
of madness
made
in complete
the offal
and where will you/we
be when it all starts
again
before
it hasn’t
begun
after the finish
which is nice
for a while
rest. free dream
before not begun again
begin
The dying Field. Renewing
again
a Shiva wheel
stuck
page won’t display
grey
goo
and hallo
to all of you
unformed uniformed
incontinent
unpossibilities
waiting
to bust out
of jail.
yeah, where to come
before I guess we gotta go
or do something
no change
is coinless
boring
a coverup
to convince
thinkin’’
don’t think
with no head peace.
Oye.
Reporter: How does it feel to take the field to a resounding chorus of boos?
Barry Bonds: I turn it into a symphony.
A Photograph by Mei Du
A Photograph by Mei Du
A Photograph by Mei Du
Our Day's Encounter 