Saturday, September 12, 2009


slept in
awakening to soft sunshine,
I stretched
moving dreams
from deep in muscles.
Your words linger still, haloed loosely
around ears,
a touch of gold,
a slight of hand,
rivals Midas,
for every pound
he’s worth.
Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Published by The Cartier Street Review 7/09


His grandmother yells at him every morning, in a tongue from the old lands of China, before the bus pulls into the circle, and its yellow hull lines them up without being corralled. Defiance marks his face despite his features being on an even playing field and he roars back at her, his tongue not as old, as he reels from her field worn hands. She is exasperated at what this country has done to time tested customs of respect and authority for elders. He baits her until she begins again. Aleathia Drehmer 2008 Published by The Cartier Street Review 7/09