Sunday, September 19, 2010

Pike Place Wanderings

Sitting at the bar of Ivar's at Pier 54, I opened my journal to shield me from the gaggle of Nebraskans who had descended upon my fair city for the ill-fated football game between the Huskies and the Huskers. In my little red book I found scribbled notes about my travels in Pike Place, barely legible and hurried. Amidst the many sentence fragments I found jewels, sparkling images of my experience of Pike Place, the market, the people, the products, the day. These I turned into a free form poem of sorts while sipping my Boundary Bay Pilsner (locally brewed in Bellingham).

Art
her sign said
Art is sharing love
sharing love with strangers
We're all strangers here
on worn cobble streets that evoke
smells that evoke
warm tastes and gooey cheese
loving curds and dark spices in the Market.
Glazed eyes dart from crisp apple
cut into tart bits held by a Native's hand
3 girls and their fluffy lemon ginger.
These Natives are not sinister, though
perhaps they seem this way to more foreign strangers.
Pierced, tattooed, dreaded, draped in earth toned woven hemp
their gorgeous eyes light when we ask questions
"What is the VALUE of this market?"
A giggle
and Josh speaks
"The VALUE?
of this outdoor supermarket?
Do you think Pineapples grow locally in winter? We still
serve them to the TOURISTS"
another giggle
and gaged ears waggle
"HERE! PUT THIS IN YOUR FACE!"
Near the dead supple smell of leather
I meet a family in business
a dying trade of dead skin
tied around ballooning waists.
Garlic in the wind I set to a warm bun
helping add to my expanding midline
helping feed the families who live their lives
differently
alternative people in an alternative market

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