Sacred Heart Junkyard

walking on water
sunny day dog
where we were
door in the air
a deer
portland
moth dog
jump
wet light
moth dog awake
commotion
bird dog
shoe retriever
tourist attraction
the western swimming pool
rustle’s game
bells
the haunted room
that reflection
victrola repair
penny trees
two dogs
the lamplighter
watched cows
living by writing
tansy
somehow
the gold ghost
the california morning
outer limits
since
nootka rose
how to open a coconut
old mr. bellingham
dry the sea from our shoes
summer reading
a cornered ghost
tin moses
fish harmonicas
that rabbit
i have to go home now
a monk
the box maze
moonlight
some sparrows
strange quarters
the evening rite
bob hope & a china cup
3rd grade
the hawkmoth
the chuckanut exit
samish way
samish bay
circle dog
the story just happened like the radio on
sunlight bucket
dandelions
small fishes
leaving safeway
radio to sleep
the bull
of blue water
state farm
connelly creek
it will happen underwater
the sacred heart junkyard
going silent
paper trail
walk

walking on water


summers ago
we would practice
walking on water
as if we believed
it could happen
but all that
mind control
never got us further
than one step over
and then in




sunny day dog

she reappeared
the sunny day dog
a mouthful of ants
in a smile
made of apple




where we were

that was where
we were
a tree
pushed down
by wind
the path
rerouted
into weeds
we stopped
a moment
the boy
the dog
and i
to feel
the eyes
in green
watching
us




door in the air

always
be ready
to picture
the possibility
an appearance
through a door
in the air
laurel & hardy
or somebody
when you
need them
to be there




a deer

the dog stands alert
with me by the door
a deer has crossed
to walk the lawn
across the street
and we’re both
as still as stone
at the screen




portland

upstairs in an attic
a long time ago
there was a dragon
having the last
scales painted on
for a parade
that’s come
and gone




moth dog

he has a dark
winged moth
who sleeps
beside him
on the floor




jump

a game to play
with the world
jump into the ground
go down the miles
dark for days
then come up
into light
on the other side




wet light

the house is
wired for water
plug in a lamp
at night
turn it on
and it fills
the room
like a sprinkler




moth dog awake

this morning
i woke up the moth
behind the door
its wings did
all the barking
as it circled
on the floor




commotion

a seagull
followed by
a crow and more
the starlings
hiding under
the eaves
a commotion
for an eagle
carried into
the neighborhood




bird dog

a bird
shadow
startles her

that’s how
she sees
the ground
like the air




shoe retriever

she can’t walk
in the door
without grabbing
a shoe
on her way




tourist attraction

a san francisco sailor
eating spaghetti




the western swimming pool

beginning
each night
after shooting
in the desert
they would return
to the hotel pool
the real star
where cast & crew
illumined in blue
splashed games
threw a yellow ball
at the moon
cooled off
and laughed
until midnight
when they would
go to sleep
so the pool
grew flat & still
waiting again
for the dawn
holding the sun
all day long
sometimes
a traveler
stepped in
during the day
with ballooned
checkered trunks
the hotel pool
was out of the way
mostly it was
painted water
while blazing
away from there
the western
filmed on
for two weeks
that was enough
build up to
the showdown
shoot out
a last night
and it’s over
at dawn
and cars
rolled
gone
when a man
in blue overalls
appeared
to clean
what was
left behind
a swirl
around
the drain
and that’s
the end




rustle’s game

he likes
hide & seek
on a stage
with a field
all around
when he’s ready
to play
count to ten
eyes open
and see
right away
the game
is all about
being found




bells

i break
two branches
and the chickadees
ring like bells
in the pine




the haunted room

the haunted room
with its sewing machine
and window painted shut
feeling the footsteps
staying awake
listening
with the light on
until dawn




that reflection

don’t let
that reflection
make you cry

hang that mirror
on the clothesline

let the night
make it dry




victrola repair

i played
a carriage wheel
the sound
only carried
a crackling
few whirls
under tall elms
along the lake
then wind




penny trees

from buried jars
in the backyard
they wind up
copper trunks
and leaves




two dogs

two dogs barking
between a fence

getting them to stop
means pulling on ropes

plenty of noise

i’m still rattled
and wonder
if they’ll ever
learn peace




the lamplighter

the lamplighter
goes out at dusk
to set the glow
above the bricks
watched cows

we watched cows
set like clouds
in green weather
we couldn’t resist
the temptation
to go over
the stone wall
lifting up
rusty wire
taking steps
into untrampeled
territory




living by writing

really aren’t i making
my living by writing anyway?
i’m here at a job but the real
work of writing does
come throughout the day
and lays down in pages
so i can say that i am
being paid for being
a writer, even though
they don’t know it




tansy

the goats have been
at the tansy again

when the wind leans
those flowers in

their milk will be
salty by evening




somehow

under the house
the saw blade
and cutting
seems somehow
connected to
the tide

the seawater
will arrive
and disappear
leaving
sawdust
and wet
cut pine




the gold ghost

his last years
spent looking
and seeing beauty
in the painted hills
cobbleways
leading past
palm trees
then inclined
to the palace
on the hill




the california morning

the california morning
wakes you up
it’s still a dream
sound of sprinklers
dew on the lawn
even the cement
warms in the sun




outer limits

after watching
outer limits
last night
the glass hand
& the monster
sitting like a sofa
on the lake floor
it’s no wonder
i’m on the run

since

since
last time
i traveled
this way
i push in
a grove

the path
eaten by june
covered over
by milkweed
horsetail
fern and
blackberry
growth




nootka rose

every morning
before the rounds
i begin at her door

she’s still asleep
twined in sheets
with blankets
grown to floor

and every
working day
i pass by
another place
on the way
to the hours

a quiet forest
and a flower
growing there




how to open a coconut

since you asked
my south sea advice
on how to open
a coconut
here's the best way

start in the kitchen
push up the window
set it there
on the sill
and slam
frame down

now
go out to
the parking lot
look around
find it rolled
under a car
bring it back
and try it
again




old mr. bellingham

they may have
the trees but
out in the country
they don’t have
this breeze




dry the sea from our shoes

we couldn’t go
to the shore
without getting wet
after an hour
lowtide mud
tidepool slips
skipping rocks
and seaweed
we’d climb
the path
to the house
and line
our shoes
beside
the stove
to dry




summer reading

pirates or volcanoes
superheroes
and submarines
quiet afternoons
in old houses
with green
coming in
the screens




a cornered ghost

in the corner
curled a ghost
for just a moment
stunned me
with a memory
while it turned
to disappear




tin moses

found in tracks
beside the road
abandoned car
with open hood
warm engine
a baby sleeping
amid the whir




fish harmonicas

i heard all
the silver mackerel
i pulled from the sea

i used to thrill
when the pull
meant a fish
took the hook

the pole bent
as it fought
the pound test
dragging it out

the colors
ocean fresh
gleamed
beautifully

i don’t know
if they saw me
if their eyes
stung from air

i guess it was
their time to go
but i wish those
fish harmonicas
played in the sea
instead of my head




that rabbit

that rabbit
this morning
watching me
riding bicycle
clover & sun
too pleasant
to run




i have to go home now

my friend arrived
in ninth grade
with a blue coat on
sitting down
next to me
when a pale look
knitted him
he forgot
to wear
a shirt
that day




a monk

the weekend
i left to rest
my ears from punk
he ended up
with a stomach pump
i didn’t know
until i got back
it was quiet
in the house
and he had
cut his hair
to look like
a monk




the box maze

the box maze
in the basement
running the ledge
along the walls
across the floor
around the furnace
cardboard tunnels
you could get lost
somewhere
in there
find each
other
listening
for laughter




moonlight

by flashlight
we could have
walked the woods
but we had
moonlight
and that
is how
we got
home




some sparrows

some sparrows
picked through dust
this passing bicycle
sends them up
gray stones
hold down
the spot they left




strange quarters

it was predicted
in my dream
this morning
and now
i really do
have them
“strange quarters”
fourteen
in my pocket
almost as if
someone knew
watching me
from a dream city
feeding my reality
like a washing machine
in a laundromat

the evening rite

a simple question
she can’t hide
the amusement
in her eyes
after the chase
as i close
the screen door
standing quiet
like a chinese poet
observing the falling
light of the sun
on the neighborhood
and the evening rite
“Did you let the fly out?”




bob hope & a china cup

a little later
she arrives
hands occupied
“i need your help”
holding the flat
picture of bob hope
over a china cup

we stand together
in the doorway
when she tips
the fly out




3rd Grade

gamera appeared
on television
a giant turtle
flung above city
spinning and burning
in black & white
no small wonder
that was all
i could talk about
on the playground
the next day




the hawk moth

we spent most days
that summer in maine
trying to catch what
seemed to be a strange
kind of a bird that moved
so fast it whirred
like a paperclip engine
my sister thought
she could catch it
in a quart jelly jar
running across the lawn
or pouncing from flowers
laying traps on the grass
mashed berries & petals
to capture that thing
that couldn’t be caught




the chuckanut exit

what a relief
to see that
green hill
rising above
the town
still

when finally
they kill it
with
money
pavement
and roofs
i guess
it will
be time
for me
to leave




samish way

where samish way
bends like water
towards the sea
an everyday
kind deed
seems a rarity




samish bay

a raven
closer than
a museum bird

orange engines
to pull a train

there goes
the vision
on samish bay




circle dog

digging sand
she puts
her whole head
in the hole

when we
get home
she makes
a circle

to become
a yellow dog
in the sandbox




the story just happened
like the radio on

once with socks
on my hands
i lay below
an open window
for a puppet show

all i could see
was trees
the story
just happened
like the radio on

i didn’t know
an audience
gathered
out there




sunlight bucket

a paint bucket
full of sunlight
enough to cover
one wall and
a gingko tree
leaves whatever
day leftover
to scatter
on flowers
at sunset




dandelions

that door opened
to a morning
so golden with
the summer lawn
dandelions
overgrowing
tall enough
to wade through
like a sea
beside the sea




small fishes

lunch is done
putting the dishes
into shallows
small fishes
clean the crumbs




leaving safeway

leaving safeway
using alleys
to go the long way
to get back home




radio to sleep

i liked radio
to help sleep
the old programs
also the strange
ones that drifted
cast off clouds
across the night
from big cities
down the coast




the bull

they tried
to keep us out
told us stories
about the bull
but every time
we snuck
into the field
we never saw
any sign of him




of blue water

hand held
like a half moon
smooth round stone
waiting
to be thrown
skipped
across the top
of blue water




state farm

one ohio morning
driving to work
with one headlight
working the fog
a police car
had to get me
what do you know
luckily he fell
for the fake
insurance card
photocopied
with the year
skillfully
blurred
by a crease
still
i realized
how slim
the chance
that charm
could work again
we needed
real insurance
(in defense
of that crime
let me explain
the reason
was money
a half time job
in a library
doesn’t pay
more than
rent & food
we barely
made it
every month)
after calling
numbers in
yellow pages
i found
an old man
and we went
to his house
and he overlooked
a lot of things
he had to know
through cloudy
white curtains
he could see
our car parked
next to flowers
in his driveway
our situation
was understood
without needing
explanation




connelly creek

every time
the bicycle
takes me
in morning
on the way
to work
it happens
starting
right there
bumping
onto the old
wooden bridge
crossing
connelly creek
tears start
as usual
to wipe them
away i wonder
what history
i’m feeling




it will happen underwater

i can see it
with a little paint
some practice driving
on the city streets
it will happen
underwater
if this rain
is still around
in the morning
i’ll be waiting
on an island
at the bus stop
to catch a whale

the sacred heart junkyard

that orange van
with the holy icon
mike painted on
should have been
bound for the garden
across the street
the st. francis fountain
the church has hidden
instead of where
it ended up
getting broken
by a punk band
who ran it down
on the highway
abandoned and towed
to another kind of garden
where motors don’t run
then again
maybe that’s okay
that face with crown
and burning heart
holding hands out
and comforting
continues
looking out
across the flock




going silent

this morning
an eagle came down
low enough
to look me
in the eye
moving sideways
cutting the air
like a brown saw
going silent




paper trail

each page
after read
loses hold
in the book
and floats
to form
a path




walk

these feet
i wear
take me
everywhere

they know
the way to go
all i do
is follow



cover painting by michael paulus
drawings and writing june-july 2006 allen frost