Jersey Shore Magazine

60 J e r s e y s h o r e • S P R I N G 2 0 2 3 Accident The bells of hyacinth ring this spring alasing the fields with blue-blooded smells—the Christ was crossed! And now, Rome's legions fertilize the dogwood dwarfs. A whim of wind that bites the victim—an Armada sunk, a Shelley drowned—move them all into the resurrecting sun and let them rise as the smells of the earth. In the weeds, Apollo's bloody discus Lies, waiting to be hurled again. First Apartment "… the great flowering world unbroken yet, which we held in idea, a little handful." —from "The Horse Chestnut Tree" by Richard Eberhart Remember how you lived in one room, its sole window looked onto a horse chestnut tree? In April, white cone-shaped flowers blossomed, filled the backyard with a heavy, sweet scent and brightened the dark tree like street lamps. Remember in summer how spread hands of leaves made shade? No air-conditioner. In fall, spikey orange casings which looked like Medieval weapons fell onto grass blades, split open and delivered lustrous brown nuts. I had no car; no savings. Yet my one room apartment had the branches of that tree. Woman In The Window You know, I spent half my life looking out of windows, a Rapunzel without hair, seeing yellow star-limned boughs turn, seeing crowds coming from lonely rooms to witness a funeral redolent with flowers or a wedding light with rice. At Easter, the church fills like a pregnant woman with the joy of resurrections, but all my life (even when out), I'm kept in a dark house of stone. I watch, waiting, wondering if all carry their towers with them, until their voices are found by blind love. Shopping Late At Night From gardens of bins, vegetable eyes stare. The freezer's breath hovers over herds of packaged cattle, flocks of bare birds and crusty ocean-creatures sleep deep below zero. Boxed and canned from loam, sky and sea, the harvest falls into our hands. Should all unfreeze and piece itself whole again, should vegetables and fruits take root and all the brilliant cans and boxes burst with life that was, tremendous energy would shake the grounds of thought to its holy foundations, tumble the walls. Tonight, all is silent— only a sinister electric hum that keeps things going. Tomorrow, Saturn's day, customers will sleepwalk the aisles and devour according to ritual. Dogs In The Knoll Must be a beautiful day; everyone is out walking their dogs. Prince and Duke regal their owners with their animal beauty. There's Sherlock, the bloodhound sniffing the mailbox for someone he suspects. Brownie, the Cocker Spaniel, shaking her curls, her collar jingling. Daisy, a snowy Poodle, and Winston, the English Bulldog, swaggering down the walk. Scooter, waiting for someone to throw him a ball. All sharing their bed and board, members of a family, making each other human. Keeping each other alive. Accident by Frank Finale

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