Ain’t That America

 

  After recieving permission to photograph this camp site at the Winthrop Blues Festival in eastern washington usa, the woman in the white shirt followed after me to get my attention, she exclaimed emphatically " this is america,  I'm glad your  photographing it !"

Nothing Man

The Unforgiven

by Russell Edson

         After a series of indiscretions a man stumbled homeward, thinking, now that I am going down from my misbehavior I am to be forgiven, because how I acted was not the true self, which I am now returning to. And I am not to be blamed for the past, because I’m to be seen as one redeemed in the present…
         But when he got to the threshold of his house his house said, go away, I am not at home.
         Not at home? A house is always at home; where else can it be? said the man.
         I am not at home to you, said his house.

         And so the man stumbled away into another series of indiscretions…

Sleeper

Walking on Tiptoe

by Ted Kooser

 

Long ago we quit lifting our heels
like the others—horse, dog, and tiger—
though we thrill to their speed
as they flee. Even the mouse
bearing the great weight of a nugget
of dog food is enviably graceful.
There is little spring to our walk,
we are so burdened with responsibility,
all of the disciplinary actions
that have fallen to us, the punishments,
the killings, and all with our feet
bound stiff in the skins of the conquered.
But sometimes, in the early hours,
we can feel what it must have been like
to be one of them, up on our toes,
stealing past doors where others are sleeping,
and suddenly able to see in the dark.