A Gemstone the Color of Oz
Paul Smith



It was nice to study maps
In grade school
I especially liked the colors
There were five or six standard ones
Light blue, pink, yellow, light green
Magenta
Our forty-eight states each had
A color of their own
Cities were highlighted
Topeka, Buffalo, Salt Lake
It made sense that our country
Was so orderly
Africa was squared away too
Each colonial power had its swath
Italy, Germany, France, Portugal, Belgium
You could tell the borders were secure
By those straight razorsharp lines
That dug in to the veldt
And jungle to subdivide
The tangle of wilderness
It made me want to explore
When I did
Buffalo was no longer
The eighth largest city
And Tanganyika had a new name
Where they mined Tanzanite
They remained the same
A cluster of people far away
On another continent
In a tiny country
Looking like a gemstone color
In a schoolbook




Nobody Knows What a Lot Is


They say she drinks a lot
But I don’t know how much that is
I know she brought me Zatarin Crab Boil
When she came to the wedding
I know our eyes met when
She was at the other table
Like they always did
And she touched my shoulder
When she came over
The reception was in a neighborhood
I overlooked or never knew
Two rail lines paralleled each other
Overhead
One of them veered west
A street away
And the block had apartments
Red brick walkups
Whose concrete steps would be fun
To run up together
With someone
On one of those blustery fall days
When the cerulean sky is so blue
Your eyes hurt
The wind rushing in off the lake
And she showed me pictures
Of her two daughters
Her sister said were wicked
But not quite chuzma
With eyes that sparkled
So much like their mother’s
I toasted all four of them

Paul Smith lives near Chicago with his wife Flavia.  He is a proud member of the Rockford Writers Guild, where he has had other poems and stories published. 
Author information here.