after work i found hippie hill,
stumbled across it really
a cute boy invited me to play frisbee
but i shyly shook my head, smiled
so many men--the remnant anarchists, camping and smoking--
not Thoreau and Emma Goldman but dirty self-styled gypsies
drum circles and backpacks and alcohol
a fight nearly broke out
shouting & curses exchanged
culminating in a surrendered wallet
by a man in a tie-dyed shirt
and i sang in tongues i do not know
i sang to the beat of the drum
to the wheels of the bike
to the clean red-haired boy of 10 (why are you here, son? is that your dad?)
to the guy asking me for a cigarette with sleazy gestures and calls
oh ancient days--oh lengthening evenings!
i sit cross-legged in the light; i observe
eucalyptus light.
6 comments:
I do so enjoy your words. They are practically writing books.
cari...
this is beautiful! man i kinda wish i could be there with you. but life is beautiful here as well.
your words are always beautiful in letters and blogs and what not.
peace and love friend!
cant wait till we meet again!
jb
"i sing in tongues i do not know"
these tongues soothe the singer, don't they, while simultaneously, fighting a great darkness with a boldness we can't even imagine.
i heard jesse's voice last night.
that soothed me :-)
xx
Oh SF. I can feel the pain of the remnants over this computer screen. I have to visit.
we stumbled upon hippie hill the weekend i was in sf
i can still hear the drum circle
smell the midday mary-jane
and see everyone happy again
just to say i read this post again and it is still beautiful.
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