River, Blood, And Corn Literary Journal: Michelle Pichon

By Michelle Pichon

When the day is dark

and the wind is blowing

hard and continuously

through the trees

bending them

like blades of grass

go outside

close your eyes

and imagine the sound

is a crowd

screaming

cheering

just

for you

moons and flowers bloom

I held your hand

and you felt something

alive in me

your blind eyes saw beneath my skin

what I was not ready to perceive

your glowing face and shining laughter

embraced the light in me

and blessed it with your touch

I held your hand

and felt your moon

alive in you

alive in me

your blind eyes masking your real sight

where visions are bright

and dance and sing in chorus

all around you

we held hands

and flowers grew between them

you said it was good

and I finally saw it too

Michelle Pichon is a Louisiana Creole with roots in Slidell and Isle Brevelle, Louisiana. Teaching English at Northwestern State University is her bread and butter but poetry is her chocolate cake and Sauvignon Blanc at the end of the day. She has previously been published in Country Roads, Xavier Review, and Louisiana English Journal. She is co-founder of Down River Art Gang (DRAG) where she and her friends put on killer multi-cultural, multi-genre art shows and other events.

You can follow Michelle on Tumblr http://mpichon.tumblr.com

By Michelle Pichon

I remember you

like the only shooting star

I ever saw

streaming across the eternal Texas sky

vibrant and magical

Your fingers long and rough

Camel Turkish blend

unfiltered

burning at the tips

chilled Budweiser

in a can

sweet on your breath

That’s how I see you

Legs like a blue heron

crossed at the knee

sitting in the swollen air

the backyard that once was

nothing but bayou

under the shade of our

family tree

telling me about

birds and baseball

You ask me

if I still play the piano

and I wish I did

because that would give me

something to say

I could learn some

big band jazz

and play for you

like the Duke

But I quit playing the piano

like everything else

I don’t like it anymore

I say

eyes on the thirsty ground

my voice like

caterpillars chewing on leaves

And now

I imagine you’d say

The piano is like baseball

Shah, you got to saboulet

or don’t do it at all

* saboulet is a Louisiana Creole baseball term meaning hit the ball as hard as possible

Something to Do on a Dark, Windy Day

Saboulet

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