“Let The Tablecloth Speak” closes at the J. Erik Jonsson Central Branch Library’s OPEN SPACE ART GALLERY on Saturday, February 29th
Love Field Airport 2
Here’s a quick video that was done with the Love Field Airport folks to promote the Black History Month program
Love Field Airport BHM
The City of Dallas Aviation folks at Love Field Airport ain’t no joke! It was a pleasure to be your speaker today for the Black History Appreciation program. Not sure how many folks eventually got in the room, but let’s say 200 and shave off the edges!
This event allowed me to reach 50 displayed artworks at the same time in the same City! Of course, I didn’t get pictures of the full display of quilts 🤨. The folks flooded in as soon as I got set up. These 4 quilts were my talk focus: Social Commentary Thru Fabric Art.
Now, I’d like to claim that my fabric art and poetry had these folks dancing, but…
It’s just a cool visual to have folks dancing in front of your fabric works!
Poem: Others Will Tell
Others Will Tell
.
.
Others will tell you
that: your copper dress caught their eye
and so they smiled and winked and took their own picture
to be reminded of you later
.
.
they will tell you
that: once they left you sitting there
caught up in the camera’s eye
they grew another head thinking of all the sweet things they didn’t say
.
.
they will tell you
that: every other lofty, wavering laughter since your’s on that day
when the camera flashed and your face shown bright in the shadows
reminds them of how much sweetness and joy remains in the world
.
.
they will tell you
that: strangers and friends have begun to ask
for their own copy of your picture to gaze upon during breaks in their day
to imagine the cool shade and warmth to want to be framed by the shadows of candles
.
.
they will tell you
that: they finally understand why others wander the earth
cameras in hand the new day’s sun bathing them all over
their eyes filling and flowing over with the hope of having such a moment with you
.
.
they will tell you
that: when I heard their story of the wonderful, watchful, witness of you
I did not weep or wail or moan I did not blink or wink or nod
I simply shook my head and whispered: “Yeah? Wait until she wears red”
.
.
.
Jas. Mardis
I Don’t Want It All Back
I don’t want it all back
just that one morning
when I put my phone on the bumper
and you wore that orange shirt dress
and shook your head
at the idea that everything was going to
work out
that the angle was right
not to cut off our heads
not to slip off the bumper
when the ten second timer hit
not to have a hundred shots of sky
on nights like this
in the middle of the moon
when the phone has six thousand pics
and only one
of big hair an ebony hue an orange blur
and endless
endless
blue sky
.
.
.
. (Oh, well…)
Jas. Mardis
Wait
When you say “wait”
and rise to your full height
your full and encompassing girth
your full measure
of curves and hips and thighs
.
your full dress
falling like first rain
across a blessing of breasts and belly
across a feast of touches:
your hand to mouth
your palm to waist
your fingers to smooth an imagined wrinkle
across your lap
your calves pushing back the chair
your falling napkin
against the surrendering table
.
. I know that you are going to say,
“…I’ll be right back”
but
there is something about the way
you leave the table
the way you press yourself anew
the way you rejoin the world above us
the way you enter an exiting
that says
to my soul
“It’ll take some courage
when she does that one last time”
.
.
.
Jas . Mardis
A Thought of You & Time
I thought of you and time today
about how you use it
in conversation
like a belt
a strap
sometimes worn
an adornment wrapped ‘round you
for your companion to consider
.
.
picked out especially for this moment
selected
to hourglass your presence
that heaven of sand above
that ocean floor below
and you
giving out luxurious patience
one grain
sliding out of order
tumbling turning tilting
fitfully into your companion’s histories:
I saw your smile
I drank in your laughter
I imagined the wet, soft press of your lips
I felt the echoing air as you rose
and took your leave
and
in the hourglass of you
a grain of time ticks against the ocean floor
.
.
in your absence
there is a remembrance of you
tapping like raindrops on dry wood
hammering away at my soul
building layers of moments into joy
taking up the grains like old dreams
dropping their exhausted husks
against my closed eyelids
and listening to their exploding songs
lulling me to a fantasy of doing it all
again
again again
when you return
pushing the air ahead of you
back into the room where I await
the next island drop of sand
to fall
delicately deliciously decidedly
into the ocean
.
.
.
.
Jas. Mardis
