Phriday Photo Gallery: In the studio

The dance studio, that is…

(click on gallery to view images)
(please note: I can not reply to comments left on individual images)

EyesOblue

false face 5 (mirrors of our words)

What is worse?  To write a fiction about the truth of who I am
or
to try and convince you that this claim about my own truth is not a lie?

Perhaps I would do better not to tell.

A Little Grown Up

 

You are chatting 
with my big brother--your uncle, 
who wants to make cheese--

and cutting up a wedge of Tomme 
de Savoie, explaining to him
how this one is particularly ripe, 

finding its unique, piquant 
funkiness, that sharp bite, little bits 
of mold all through its bloomy rind,

and you are eating the pieces,
bloom and mold and all, and I 
awake, punched through by an ache, 

dumbstruck witness to a growing 
I can not understand, can only stand under,
pulled up by the roots from within me.

Dirt falls back to earth.
Dust drifts down to the floor.
My mouth is full of clay—
 
“Please, let her take her time.”

Sunday Supper, a new (and hopefully weekly) phood photo pheature: images from inside the industry

This week’s episode….

“Bustin’ Caps”

(I know.  I really didn’t have to go there, but I did anyway.)

Seen Better Days…