Tidal Basin


Germination Detail Part III, by Leslie Shellow

contemplations about what stays in the net

Sunday, September 18, 2016

Fissure


Fissure

 My heart is breaking.

 The same fissure along the same fault lines.

 The approach to the volcano is well-worn. The heat, predictable. The explosion, a roiling sound in the throat of the
Earth.

But this time, I turn and walk back along the greening trail until the lava rocks are covered and hidden.

I leave a stone, a feather, a red string
where I would have placed my heart.
and I walk away

intact

into
the rest of my life.

Monday, August 22, 2016

Leaving



I miss a lot of things.
Like the sound of your heartbeat through the machine that kept you alive. Or was it the picture of a line dipping and climbing, which looked loud, like a sound?
And I know I would have heard silence had it flattened out
But it didn’t.

You did.

And (take credit), your exit was indistinguishable from the dawn
and my earphones recorded the motion of breath in each song,
so many breaths before I noticed / you were gone.

O.K. That is a lot for a short moment
that lasted less than a second
of breath.

Breathe!

And where were you in all of this?
Recording sound and breath and absence like you owned it.

No.

Stipulations say that details in absentia cause misdemeanors of flight.
You left without warning,
the tarmac still warm from releasing your traction

Come back and I will explain how you never were supposed to leave like that
without me.

New Vision



She has coins dangling around her belly in a string of silver chain. She moves to an old song. She is a gypsy.

How she recognizes me, I will never know. She sees me out of the corner of her mascara-ed dark eye behind a ringlet of black hair across a room full of tables, some with food; others empty.

She shakes, shimmies, and glides up to me. She offers her hand and does not take it back when I extend mine. She’s light in her step and heavy in her hips. Her belly sings a million songs. I hear my name in one of them.

Friday, March 25, 2016

Cuba, Yoga, and Love

I am re-posting a link to an interview I did with Michelle Embree on my memoir-in-progress, UNDOCUMENTED. Thank you, Michelle, for your thoughtful questions and for such a lovely opportunity to reflect on this work!

https://michelleembree.wordpress.com/2015/02/22/cuba-yoga-love-and-writing-memoir-with-sarah-shellow/

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

In The Middle of Time




blue jeans
frayed at the edges
like waterfruit
seedy and split
open
exhausted by
the day,
or was it
the night?
pooling in a
dark corner
of the room where the
highway buzzes outside the
motel suite--
a luxury
this place in
the middle of
time