Thanks to Marilyn Ashbaugh, a poet whose work has appeared in international anthologies and journals of Japanese short-form poetry. She is a member of the Apple Farm writing group. She writes: I recently attended a Florida poetry festival and am delighted to report that American poetry is alive and well.  There was so much truth shared in the prose poems read that I sat in awe.  We all did. We were awe struck by truth.  So below is my riff.

The Only Things We Had

flip flops and polka dots
bikinis and baby oil
sprinklers and kiddy pools
purees and steelies 
shooters and thumpers
rednecks and greasers
hard boiled and over easy
duck tails and teeter totters
smoke rings and cokes in bottles
five fingers and detention
banana seats and butterflies 
borrowed bikes and joyrides
Kool aid lips and sucker punches
hopscotch and holes in our socks
twinkies and tang and
T R U T H 
all jujubeded and slo poked


Marilyn Ashbaugh

a Zuihitsu by Marilyn Ashbaugh 
Note on genre: zuihitsu is a form of prose-poetry that emerged during Japan’s 11th century (Saito). Translated as “following the brush,” zuihitsu collects observations, notes, personal feelings, and quotes in a seemingly random and associative manner, ‘not too close, not too far”, leading to surprising poetic expressions and insights. Or not. When cultures collide there can be collusion. 
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Atlantic Coast, Florida
 
Life can only be understood backwards.  – Soren Kierkegaard
 
If you want to know the future, heat up the past.  - Chinese saying
 
 
Nothing Special* 
My father never spoke of it directly.  When I was a young girl, he told me to never confuse a priest with God.  And never let a priest tell me I was special, for that would be a lie.  Never be alone with a priest and never enter the rectory, ever, for that would be a sin.  I was more afraid of my father than I was of any priest, so I followed what my father told me.  

So when the new young priest with the big smile enters Sister Margaret’s eighth grade class to ask who would like to “babysit” the rectory phone, no one questions why the priest couldn’t answer the phone himself.  All my classmates raise their hands. Everyone likes the handsome young priest with the big smile.  

a flycatcher

dives for the butterfly

morning mass
​
*Published in Presence, issue 62.  Voted best in issue.
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Mountain Empire, Arizona

Pink Satin*

I open the door to an apparition.  Seated in the small space is a ballerina.  Her hair forms a perfect bun atop her head.  She too wears a pink leotard with pink tights, the ones that fold open at the feet.  Her one foot is completely wrapped in tape.  Her hands lightly fold around her exposed foot as if she is caressing an injured bird.  Her foot is raw and bruised and her toes are so misshapen as to appear broken.  She briefly meets my eye with a look of determined composure, and then proceeds to wrap her foot.  

My cheeks flush.  I look away as I gather my pointe shoes and gently close the door.

on pointe

we tie pink satin ribbons

around each ankle
 
*Published in Presence, issue 63
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Maurer School of Law, Indiana

behind the black robe

a white robe. . .

a butterfly wanders through
 

looking on paper

for jurisprudence

cut to the bone
 
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Good poetry makes the universe share a secret.  –Hafiz
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All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident -Arthur Schopenhauer