s w i f t s  &  s l o w s: a quarterly of crisscrossings

Repartee
Joanne Pagano Weber & Bruce Weber

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1

“It doesn’t matter any more,” she said” wiping a tear with her sleeve.”
“Yes it does my blue rabbit.”
“If you say so turtle dove rabbit soup consommé in a master chef’s hands.”
“Thinking ahead is your game and I prefer not to be so promoted.”
“But darling chickadee think about tomorrow’s big hands around your throat.”
“Right, let me escape the rabid carpet of flowers.”
“The divine unction of mystical carpets suits you my rabbit stew.”
“Oh, to glance through the glistening veil and grace your cabbage.”
“Take that and this and those lips of mine oh glorious future.”

2

Green bean and potatoes and cauliflower
The hereafter of all my kingdom
The threatening call of the juicy vegetables
And lemons that shoot out their flavor like
Thrilling ferris wheels over the farmers fields
These are the crops we call our own
Radishes that behave like pathways of gold

3

Go deeply into places that no one’s ever been to
An ant’s intestines, for example, provide vistas for your delectation
Far better to stare into the secret heart of caterpillars on the verge of turning into butterflies
But the kaleidoscope of expectation overturns at night
And we seep through the compunctionlessness of our skin
And consecrate the dark harbor of our dreams
Blasting our radios and singing along with the distance in the clearing
Like the lonely notes of the bagpipe to our ears
Squeezing each note into the air like pungent lemons
Bursting with the ripeness of our hearts bleeding over the philodendrons

4

The cat looks out at the world
His beehive of enchantment is spinning in the light of the sun
He ignores the invitations of humans
Who desire to throw him in the air like confetti
What do they know of the music of a spider’s silk harp strings?
What do they understand about the celestial possibilities of shadows?
Their feet create pleasant vibrations under his bottom fur
But their imaginations linger on the terrestrial plane like dust
In stillness he floats on iridescent wings from the living room floor

5

What do we know of the earthworm
One of the universe’s great mysteries
The movements of clouds and rivers he records
In his imaginary diary filled with impossible thoughts
That only the migrating ants can hear
And the bumblebees hovering over the nectar of flowers
Witness his journey through the valley of death
And the passion he feels in the throes of a bird’s song
Writhing in the soft earth
The soil pressing between his teeth like a lasso

6

Sometimes she’d stare off into the distance like a telescope
And leave her sandals on the bedroom floor
And walk off toward some place hidden from view
She had a knack for disappearing even in empty spaces
She could become invisible in flakes of falling snow or in the throes of a burning thought
And sometimes you could hear her singing with the purples finches
Or dancing in the forest among shadows and glistening light
Shutting out the screeches and explosions of the world
Behind curtains of impossibilities and walls impervious to reason
In the space beyond the garish colors of sound
And the monotonous rhythms of crickets
Seeking a place to disappear too
In a galaxy filled with the radiant echoes of stars

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Bruce Weber is a poet and art historian, and organized the 25 years running Alternative New Year’s Day Poetry/Performance Extravaganza.

Joanne Pagano Weber is an artist and writer who exhibits in the tri-state area, and teaches at the College of Mount Saint Vincent, Boricua College, and Greenwich House.