frogcircus.org

the poetry of Charles Fry

post

2015–

defi

2009–2013

belle

2007–2002

dada

2002–1999

sundance

1999–1997

frere

1997–1995

julian

1995–1994

stone

1994–1993

31 December 1995

How blind I am in wooden glasses.

My knarled hands only tighten the knots in these weathered ice-skates.
So I keep them on my feet because that is where she put them.
At least they use butter, not biscuit knives. Easier to slow down
or to do that spin trick on fence posts.
I can barely make out the LCO pieced out of the welcome mat,
and the tongue is of cardboard since it ran out.
Do they have wooden ice-skates in Holland?
It would be so much simpler, all made of one piece; and no shoelaces.
I'd slide all the way over there if I could just get less traction on those dusty roads.

How tenderly she smiled as she tied them on.
She whispers Happy Birthday, which must be a mistake because
it is really her birthday. I have 48 days left still.
Who's the authority on birthdays around here anyway?
Maybe he'll let me change mine this year.
Maybe he already did, and then asked her to notify me.
Maybe she requested it and gave him her pretty green shoelaces.
Wasn't he happy enough simply to be King?

My piper's pipe is still very small and frail; my breath, weak.
I try to play, but I am so scared that a finger will slip and miss.
(Would it have been better to take a peace pipe instead?
But no -- that brings one sole note.
Unaccompanied and unchanging.
And it never cries.)
She looks up at me and I know she must understand.
A small tear drips down my face, and I turn my head
letting it slide into the wooden pipe, still in my hands,
bending the note until my breath runs out.

 forgotten memories   of being burned at the stake   sweet dreams   sharing   hand-in-hand   the stranger   hidden courtyards   holding You   princess   happy day   loneliness   fragile, handle with care   my small trip to the cement factory   dedication   this record is for You   the day that I cried   Last night I woke up under my bed.   my silver Dancing shoes   Man my heart tears.   the three things   strait jackeght   like you   abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz   Fire cooks me   Princess Alexandra:  A Little Story   cats up cat twice   sweet rain water   little children   my heart   How blind I am in wooden glasses.   I know she's crying cause it stains her voice,   Dear Family,   I pound at my heart   We run away from the ice cream truck   purple sunset   J. Elephant   so i walk up to you with this   the Soul queen   so, you say that i do not speak   window   dear sweet old Ordinary   i am a Harp