Market Day in Santa Cruz

Along the thoroughfares
approaching town, astrologers were offering
to read the stars, already confident
in Sarah, Goddess of Fruit-Bearing Trees,
according to their zodiac, though she
was humanly stricken by the troubadours
intoning hymns, and blowing flutes
on every corner of the market square all
the time, constantly. In cages, parrots
praised the red day. A blacksmith with
his blisters pounded out a metal skeleton,
quenched it steaming in a stone bath,
then hung it hissing up among his death’s
heads, also metal, by a thread
above his public anvil. Other vendors
waved away the wasps and killer bees
descending toward the pots of jam, and also
lighting on the cantaloupes, and stalls
of nuptial melons, hundreds strong. Chickens

IMG_2725

dangled from the hands of bloody men.
It was a judgment. No one touched the cabbages
but Elam, and the weird potatoes, though
his spirits soared along the passageways
of civil bargains, and winds through the blue
and glowing coals of fires in braziers
swept up the savory smoke of broiling dog,
and parts of antelope. One day,
he thought, after Saturday, he’d take
his chances with an urban life again.

Author: Brad Crenshaw

I am a poet and literary critic. I have written two books of poetry: 'Genealogies' was published in April 2016. My first book of poetry is titled 'My Gargantuan Desire'. I also have two chapbooks: 'Propagandas', and 'Limits of Resurrection'. I am working on a manuscript titled 'Medical Life’, which is book of creative non-fiction. I have worked as a neuropsychologist for many years in a New England tertiary care medical center, and in the Massachusetts Department of Developmental Services. 'Medical Life' reflects my encounters with people who have had neurological insults of various sorts, and the problems that result. When I am not writing, or working, I'll be out in my ocean kayak in either the Pacific or Atlantic Oceans. The unconstructed world.

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