I was stirring
honey in my tea
when through the
kitchen window
I spied the bright red
cardinal who had
established himself
Chief of the Yard.
He flight-paced
between the empty feeder
and a mimosa limb.
When he paused,
he looked right at me.
I swear he did.

His angry cardinal
glare and fiery
feathers, all ruffled
and fluffed, set
my priorities.
Tea down,
I went out to the shed
for the bucket of
seed and walked
toward the feeder,
then noticed,
a flash of red diving into
the honeysuckle.

Alone at the tree,
still, I felt watched.
Watched, as I reached
for the feeder,
set it on the ground,
fed it scoopfuls
of black oil
sunflower seeds,
and returned it,
full, to its limb
in the mimosa.

Back at shed distance,
I saw Chief
return and perch,
his beak stabbing,
shells flying,
a black hailstorm
the female cardinal
and the finches
and the wrens
and the chickadees
who must have been
watching from places

We watch each other
for different reasons,
Chief and I.
He watches for food.
I watch for beauty and
flight and poetry.
Reciprocal stalkers
in search of sustenance.
I feed, he eats,
and we are
both filled,
sated with
magnesium and

© 2020 Deb Moore, All Rights Reserved

Shhhh! Don’t Tell Anyone

I’ll let you in on a little secret.  For years I’ve had this dream of opening a “place.”  I put that in quotes because I’m not quite sure what to call it.  It would look a whole lot like the picture above.  Part bookstore, part coffee shop, part modern version of a literary salon.  I even toyed with a name: Gertrude’s, after that famous salon keeper herself, Gertrude Stein.

And maps.  There would have to be maps because I am a long-time cartophile.  I can stare at a map for hours, read it almost like a book.

Maps and books and coffee and tea and lots of discussion.  The barista would be more of a bartender.  There would, in fact, be a coffee bar where one could sit and sip and bend the ear of the very well-educated barista.

A back room.  There would have to be a back room for poetry slams and writers’ groups and book clubs.

With the announcement today that Borders was officially closing all its stores, there were simultaneous and breathless hopes expressed on NPR that perhaps this might give some breathing room for a slight resurgence of small, independent bookstores to flourish.  A significant portion of the population still wants to smell books and touch them and walk among them.  Many of us are still romantically attached to that dream of having a library like Henry Higgins’.

I’m not sure I’ll ever realize this dream.  That’s okay.  I have plenty more where that one came from, and I was never quite sure I could fully commit to the endless hours required in owning a “place” such as this.  But, I still believe that in the right place and the right time and with the right energy, it could be a wonderful place for geeks to meet.

Oh.  And a liquor license.  Definitely a liquor license.

Get Your Hands Off My Darjeeling

Tomorrow I go to the post office to put a very large check into the mail made out to the IRS.  Meanwhile, a bunch of Republicans are staging “tea party” demonstrations across the nation for lower taxes.   (And isn’t their W-onder Boy the one who grossly increased the national debt, increased the size of government, put us into an endless war with a seemingly limitless price tag, and left us in our current economic shit-hole?)

Here are my three thoughts about this tea party:

1.  Why do you try to prove you’re more fiscally responsible by wasting a precious commodity?  The original tea party was to protest against taxes on tea by a government that offered the colonists no representation.  So, a) why don’t you bring your income or capital gains to dump tomorrow as those are the taxes you are protesting, and b) our votes are now our primary voices of protest, and more of those “voices” were (and still are) in support of the change President Obama brings.

2.  As an avid tea drinker and, dare I say, afficionado, tomorrow’s demonstration is practically akin to burning books to me.  I would almost approve your ignorance if your plan was to donate the tea brought to the demonstration to people who have lost their jobs . . . because of the economy W-onder Boy helped bring about.

3.  When I put that check in the mail tomorrow, with it will go the power of my intentions that my widow’s mite will go forth into the coffers of our government to do good work . . . help someone get a job rebuilding our roads or a child get healthcare.

And after I mail it, I think I’ll go home and have a cup of tea.