Inner Arches of Shadow

Corsage

Photo by D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove

THE ARCH

—Joyce Odam, Sacramento

(After The Arch by Amanda Dunbar)

Seepage at the entrance—mud for
footprints, red stone supporting
the bridge above, where
sounds of foot-steps,
or voices, are gone
as they’re heard.
Under, is the
only way
through.
Its view:
—two
small
trees,
a tiny
patch
of blue
sky, a white
stream of light.
No harm here—only
sun-shadows flickering
warmly—only the sensed
presence of someone making
a choice—nothing to tell what
questions want to know—only the
unimposing, inner-arch of shadow—
darkening—cool—smelling of late summer.

________________________

GOING DOWN TO THE CELLAR

—the musty cellar 
where the darkness is

to test the darkness
count the steps

get some wine
that is there

or not there
somewhere in the dusty bottles

—corked
and waiting to be found—

the non-existent wine
and the fear

with its real existence—
the steps are so many

and the door closes after you
and the flashlight dies

and you cannot find the wine
and who will know you are there

—Joyce Odam

___________________

LOVE: AS AN ABANDONED BUILDING

—Joyce Odam

Here is where we lived.
Here is where we loved.
Here is where we left.

And now the old shed
of a house stands gaping,
stricken with neglect.

Trees guard it still,
but wearily.
Weeds overtake, then quit.

An upper window stares,
devoid of glass. The inner walls
still hold the ceiling up—

but barely.  The outer walls?
They’re gone, as are the steps.
The pathway, too.

Only dry sounds linger here,
mutter about themselves,
worrying the air.

And all we share of this
is how we lived here—loved
awhile—then left.

_____________________
 

A SACRAMENTO MOMENT

—Joyce Odam

Passing by the church steps, I see a man, bent—
washing his feet from a water bottle, and a cloth

—intent,    intent—his shoes placed neatly side-
by-side. It is twilight and still warm for October.

He does not seem to see or care that I see him
do this. It is his need, and this is his only means

and place. He will have his bare feet clean, then
lean back, maybe, and watch the people pass.

_____________________
 

THE THOUGHT OF SNOW

—Joyce Odam
             

(After "March Snow" by Wendell Berry)

For you, Mother,
this thought of snow—
snow in your honor, imprinted

with joyous boot steps,
danced in the bluish white
under the streetlight—only,

it was a later, and an earlier time,
merged into now—
part yours,     part mine,

stomping together in the
early snow,     under your window,
where you watched,

and it was with my daughter
that I was snow-dancing.

____________________
 

Today's LittleNip:

COUPLETS
—Joyce Odam

she said

croon me to wisdom till it snows

                    *

they rocked each other's dreams

they locked their toes

                    *

they sang till morning found them

safe as souls

____________________

—Medusa

Photo by Janet Pantoja, Woodinville, WA