Dandelion Hill

Panrious hears my sideward footfall,
Gravel Sounding.
I enter like a waitress with Betty Boop smile;
Skirt fluttering in the breeze at the doorway.

Panrious reaches down into his record collection
And pulls out an album.
He knows the record by the grooves.
“Duke Ellington right?”
“Sure is” I say as I play it for him
While he swings back to a steady rock in his chair.

Ellington plays glass ear tones.
While the black cat sits like a musical note on the windowsill.

Scratches like sparks from a fire
Jump up between synchronous notes.
Dust dances in the light.

I bring a wine-glass
He holds with two hands,
Listening for pouring vibration to cease.

Squeaky Chair
Toy horse on springs
Flowers in the meadow.
He smells the cork in my fingertips.

“Caterpillar Dust” he says as my skirt flutters against the chair.
I remember when I used to hold him in the fields,
Blowing dandelions into his face
And kissing him in supreme joy.

Panrious reaches, touching the glass on the window.
His smile is vast and timeless.
Fingertips capturing the sun.

© Sonja J. Phinney 1990