You know, one of the wonderful things about being in the small press over the years is the strange and amazing things that mysteriously appear in the mailbox, some of which arrive, like this postcard, anonymously (yeah, Burfields, just because you didn't sign it, don't go thinking ...).
The little Bosch guy mascot has been all over the planet, delivering tiny lyrical missives for what seems like forever, actually just a mere 20 years. It's nice to see that he and his friends are in shape enough for some mountain climbing and some good, old fashioned daytime moon viewing.
Wishing everybody a great, stress-free day of giving thanks. Here's a poem capturing the ambiance of the season from Lilliput Review #98, July 1998.
Thanksgiving WeekendLeaves skitter across the empty lot.
One car in the corner. Away from buildings
the sky widens. Clouds–like sand
rippled by receding tide water.
Wind piles leaves in the corner
of the cemetery fence, hisses through them,
moans through evergreens. The dead are still.
The ground is hardening.
And from Issa:
thanks to the wind
they are precious...
translated by David G. Lanoue