By Su Polo

is available at St. Marks Books
in NYC on E. 9th Street,
at 3rd Avenue.

She is a singer/songwriter, photographer, painter and sculptor, computer graphic artist and designed this website.

@Nightingale 213 East 13th Street, at 2nd Avenue.
Hosted by David Elsasser and Su Polo

Take #6,N,R to Union Sq. Then a short walk East. or L to 1st ave, walk West

There is a wonderful sense of fear growing in me. Fear of the unknown, fear of finding out, fear of finding love. I ate some sour cherries yesterday. The fear of the first tart taste biting my tongue was overruled by the satisfaction of the sweet cherry flavor filling my mouth and causing a smile and thoughts of wanting more. Have another - there's more. Sour cherries - try one. Doesn't everybody try one.
If someone says "Sour cherries," children's hands fly up to try one. If you say "Sour grapes," yuck, that's a whole different story. Sour cherries; children's hands are always held up high, because they know you'll torture them by trying to keep them out of reach.
But they will come anyway.
And you will give in.
Sour Cherries,
Sour Cherries,
Sour Cherries.

YOU BRING THE SUN

My velvet pen sends forth the blossoms
Petaled beds in bunches, in glad bouquets.
Sweet spindly bramble of scented starlight
Ferns and fronds, the mosses — ours.
Buttercup and lily pad, their plates
Filled in golden praise.
You bring the Sun — you bring the day.
Pray, never turn your face away.
The jewel weed — You rise above
Love is greed — The clouds the moon
The Earth does turn to face the Sun,
There is no need if we are one.

—Su Polo

I found a pin in the street thank you. Yes, I picked it up. A safety pin. Safety; now there's a word that has many meanings. Especially recently. Safety is at issue. Yet, sometimes, what you don't want is safety. Sometimes you just need to take your chances; to go out on a limb; leap of faith; go where no one has gone before. Yet, not to be confused with a pin tossed in a game of hopscotch.

This quiet pin rests on the table before me, silver steel with its coiled, spring hinged, needle tipped shaft, tense and temporarily sheathed in its machined holster head; a tiny but artful device with about as many uses as its name has meanings. Laying on the brown wood bar table. The shiny perfection perched with all its possibilities on the muddy patinaed surface. Scratched and bruised with years of use by passing plates and forks and knives. Carved into with some relative to sharpness, to shape a rough heart around the name JOEY. Some lover's whisper, carved to keep safe.