A CHARMING CREMATION I look out at snow on our neighbor’s roof, flakes huddled together before they die. Even long winters are ephemeral. though a frigid February is tough to like. Spring, here’s a question for you—why are you taking so long to arrive? Dull ground needs to fire up bulbs and seeds, enough sun to cremate winter, ash rising high.
I STOP to see cosmos, picotee blossoms. The flower starts out white, the edge reddish-purple. The sun hops on my shoulders, not heavy at all.
MANDRILL Painting by Oskar Kokoschka My dad, born in 1926, a year like a mandrill let loose in a living room. Vice President Dawes wrote “It’s All in the Game” which the mandrill sang to a bright red sandbox. In three years the house crumbled. Dollar bills shivered, no one to feed them. Not even the mandrill whose hairy kisses covered hundreds of abandoned cars. Editor's Note: Here is "The Mandrill" by Oskar Kokoschka.
Kenneth Pobo is the author of twenty-one chapbooks and nine full-length collections. Recent books include Bend of Quiet (Blue Light Press), Loplop in a Red City (Circling Rivers), and Uneven Steven (Assure Press). Opening is forthcoming from Rectos Y Versos Editions. Lavender Fire, Lavender Rose is forthcoming from Brick/House Books.
Grand Little Things 