Jeffrey Hartgraves

Weather or Not The rain falls fat and sharp soundin' like a herd of finger-snappin', gum-poppin', smart-assed girls - The kind with big hair and only slightly bigger attitudes? And the gutters flow in water blushin' color from newspapers bleedin' out ribbons of cheap ink. The doorstep sleepers rustle and huddle into their own arms Whimperin' at God, or maybe to God. Prayers, bein' rare, I can't tell. A wind sails down the street grabbin' and guttin' umbrellas like slow, stupid, fish. And when it finds that they're empty, tosses 'em away. Bent and broken, canvas tumbleweeds are corralled in concrete corners along with everything else we think we don't need. I pass by a heap of wind-rattled trash and in that sour scrapin' I hear again somethin' that sounds very much like a whimper or maybe too much like a prayer. ********************************************** A Recognition In a cross-walk, she passes me in her creased and cracked leather jacket Her hair, violet - shoots up from serious, dark roots an exotic, molting bird. She scuffles across the street so close our arms whisper against one another. Around her willow neck Hangs a limp, red, paper heart Strung on tattered yarn. The edges wilt and curl in humid air Her eyes focused on some distant place in time. A voice inside my head calls, "Sister" As, on the far curb, she is folded into another blind herd - weary, exposed, heart open to the elements. ********************************************** Casting Glances Head tilted down eyes up, a shy gaze meant to draw me like a fish pulled toward dancing sun on top of water sudden as a gasp a breath unknowing and I am pulled into warmth and darkness into the center of someone else's desire.

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