My “Week” In Photos From October 15th- October 30th

“Jennifer Before Dusk”
Jennifer before dusk
Yelling my name outside 
Between a waning sun 

And a heavy moon-soaked 

Drizzle on the rise in the sky,

All smiles and lunar judgment-

On the sidewalk, Jennifer pushing 
The hood of her navy blue slicker

Away from her wet matted forehead; 

Blonde bangs, defiantly soaked,

But still near-screaming my name

Several times until I pulled back

The lemon-yellow gauze curtains

Of my living room to meet her gaze;

For my apartment is on the ground floor

And doorbells are of little use here

Like “shooting fish in a barrel” 

Or however that expression goes-
I heard her before seeing her, as usual-
In earnest, not that many can 

Shock and shake me unknowingly,

But she can somehow, always

Not in a bothersome way at all,

But in an actual welcoming warm delight

In the way that makes one feel

How nice it is

To be not just wanted, but needed…

With profound yelling and friendly ruckus
We spoke about the recent fire and how

Arson was suspected, her dimples flashing 

And my bare feet on the front steps by then,

Semi-outdoors and

Apologizing for not having an awning but she

Didn’t care- in a way one can’t stop immediacy

How etiquette falls to the wayside, obsolete,

Some people are refreshing in their bluntness-

And it didn’t matter whatever was happening

The environs against the conversation;

She just kept talking until she got her point 

Across about the meeting on Castro Street 

A few days from then and reminding me 

“You have to be there! Ok??!”
The rain coming down in sheets,
Like a nagging lover perpetually finding the

Worst time to interrupt what you have to say

When you finally decide to speak,-
But that didn’t matter then, whereas its

Timing would have been shitty otherwise;

For some other people-
And she darted away 

With a quick wave up the hill, quiet after being

Shrill and just plain 

Jennifer, lovely and comfortable in any meaning.

All words and images belong strictly to ©CynthiaPaulaCollins. Not to be used or “borrowed” without written consent! Thank you. xo

Personal Muse-Man

Detail of the Hayfield
I followed myself for a long while, deep into the field.

Two heads full of garbage.
Our scope was larger than I realized,

which only made me that much more responsible.
Yellow, yellow, gold, and ocher.

We stopped. We held the field. We stood very still.
Everyone needs a place.
You need it for the moment you need it, then you bless it—

thank you soup, thank you flashlight—
and move on. Who does this? No one.

  • By Richard Siken

A Classic Muse

Time does not bring relief; You all have lied
“Time does not bring relief; you all have lied   

Who told me time would ease me of my pain!   

I miss him in the weeping of the rain;   

I want him at the shrinking of the tide; 

The old snows melt from every mountain-side,   

And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;   

But last year’s bitter loving must remain 

Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.   

There are a hundred places where I fear   

To go,—so with his memory they brim.   

And entering with relief some quiet place   

Where never fell his foot or shone his face   

I say, “There is no memory of him here!”   

And so stand stricken, so remembering him.”
– by Edna St. Vincent Millay



My “Week” In Photos from September 20th- October 14th

The pitter-pattering of raindrops

In syncopation falling

Over windshields now on the 

Quiet parked cars outside lining

This small one-way street; it’s tiny, 

Almost like an alley, really, but

The automobiles, linear like dominoes, 

Always manage to become secular

Upon this steep inclined hill because,

I suppose, here in San Francisco,

Parking is akin to Religion…

So, “blessed be” and all of that-
I hear a familiar Autumnal

Lullaby of skidding tires 

On the main road in the distance;

Off of Market Street- echoing off 

Each building’s face inevitably…

To find my sentimental, forever and

Always open insomniac listening ears-
Like a tiny blessing

In disguise.
Tonight as I write this for you, 

Reminded of you as if 

We are still in an ethereal dream- 
Standing on the shoreline

Of a mysterious ocean’s musical 

Repetitive lapping tide, 

Drawn to and fro are the waves, 

Like magnificent chimeras-
An auditory and visual loop as well,

Akin to a cinema clip from a silent movie-
Our feet buried in wet sand and looking out

With clean eyes and fresh

Hearts into what 

Is the ultimate vastness of a Horizon Point;
Its end unseen…

A vision of illusion, maybe, but 

Something that is something…
Forever branded in my memory,

Like you and I.


All words and images here belong strictly to me – ©CynthiaPaulaCollins- Not to be “borrowed” or used without consent! All you have to do is ask. Thank you. xo


“Love Poem”

There is always something to be made of pain. 

Your mother knits. 

She turns out scarves in every shade of red. 

They were for Christmas, and they kept you warm 

while she married over and over, taking you 

along. How could it work, 

when all those years she stored her widowed heart 

as though the dead come back. 

No wonder you are the way you are, 

afraid of blood, your women 

like one brick wall after another.

  • Louise Gluck

My “Week” In Photos from August 15th-September 19th 

-A little memory and fact-

In my younger days, I used to take the Muni, always wearing my headphones so I could just listen to music whilst generally being within my own spaced-out bubble. 

Then, eleven years ago, I forgot my iPod and inadvertently found myself eavesdropping on other Muni passenger’s commute conversations. 

I still take Muni all the time, but sans the music quotient to hear daily life in snippets. 

And sometimes I try to capture them in images here and there. xo
All words and photos ©CynthiaPaulaCollins