In Summer Light

I've only read the first paragraph of this young adult book by Zibby Oneal and I know it's going to be good.

There were peaches in a blue and white Chinese bowl and
a cat almost the color of peaches stretched beneath the
table.  Morning light fell slantwise across the table's surface,
lay like marmalade on the rungs of a ladder-back chair.
Beside the table, sitting straight on the straight-backed chair,
was a little girl, feet bare, hands folded.  Here dark hair
grazed the sharp bones of her shoulders.  Her eyes were
intent.  Perched there expectantly, erect on the chair's
edge, she was like someone awaiting an invitation to
dance.

Zibby Oneal, In Summer Light, Viking Kestrel Press, 1985, page 1.

Read on...

Denis Streeter   5/31/17

wherenaut

the watch burning noses
pulled tongs from the fire
itching tong to themselves
finding floors to follow, itches to ride, films to lice
realize the eyes don't have it, the floors follow the eyes won't
dusty cabbages, forlorn racks, crispy fingers, rabbit toes
it's none of those
it's
star potatoes, ate onions, rabbit flies, ribald ghettoes
the racks are missing.  don't know where to go.  all forlorn.
follow keyboard figures,  finger the way
down this rabbit hole, the mine lode flow
wishing wells know, the washing gets done
the ribald understand, but wont cuss
leftover reads down shore, kindle books burning light
page outmode linus blankets, books bearing masters
splitting the difference
pens and pawns, misunderstanding
watching the prose con the knows
pleas follow the jumpy and contagious  it oxen acts that way.
floors wall open some angle perspectives
sand filling out and up
castle imagines
where we are living
we wonder why
if not, wherenaut

denis streeter   4/30/17