Thursday, May 24, 2012


—Photo by Ann Privateer

—Ann Privateer, Davis

and can be food for deep thought
when stumped by someone
who knows the answers


too much data
from my boss, the giant bell
pepper, I shall prepare to be ill
amble along the quai near the mill
until lunch hour ends then sell
my polka passes on ebay, hell
dancers move to any farmer-in-the-dell
direction unimportant, well...

let's have a shout out flash mob
to begin each forwarded message.


—Patricia Hickerson, Davis

last winter at Tahoe
Banjo-boy snowboarded with Koko-jo
up and down the hills they bounded
curved their boards like airborne kayaks
across icy drafts
and down the February chill
past lurching trees
sailed frigid valleys
white-topped hillocks
tats of wind-blown lace blotted their faces
joined hands Banjo and Koko-jo

on the back slopes
night fell
or was it a dream?
her sheaf of long black hair
like molten licorice strands
melted against the snow:
she lay back for pure joy
opened her quilted kimono
invited him in

Banjo prayed to the moon
tossed their boards down the mountainside
pretended they were on Mt. Fuji          


—Patricia Hickerson

they were crazy about each other
crazy crazy
they did everything together
they snowboarded they skied they fished they climbed trees they prowled bookshops
they never did anything apart from each other they ran they jogged they laughed
it was all for each other crazy crazy

they touched fingers hands lips
what they didn’t do wasn’t worth mentioning
they did it in sunlight they did it in the dark
they read books together they wrote poetry together
they didn’t care about anything anyone else
crazy crazy

they crashed together they cried together they cringed together
they cooked together they ate together they slept together

they had a baby together it got too crazy the baby crying in the dark
they screamed and fell apart
it just got too crazy crazy crazy crazy  


—Patricia Hickerson

bless Jesus so she did
she placed her feet squarely on concrete
at Broadway and W. 103rd St.
there was a rooming house
run by Mrs. Johnson
Marietta put herself and her young son
into one of the rooms
went to work in the hat shop down the street
she was 43 straight out of Oklahoma City
via a train through the mighty St. Louis Station
she expected to return again
after her daughter’s New York wedding
but her husband never sent the return fare

Marietta was a beautiful woman
and she modeled hats beautifully
women came into the shop
tried on the hats she modeled
hoping to look as fetching as Marietta
she was happy living on concrete
never missed the prairie
its dry heat had sickened her
so had her husband
New York was her city
her money
her happiness
she blossomed like a summer rose
rising unexpectedly through a sidewalk crack


—Patricia Hickerson
Grandpa, I’d like to recall you from 1923
you were 46 years old
like to have a drink with you
let’s go to a bar your last night on earth
I’ll recognize you from your old photo
(unless it’s one of Grandma’s brothers—Fred or Willie)

well, come on, let’s have a drink
in that old bar on Fordham Road
I know you were living in the Bronx then
in a rooming house
we’ll have a drink
what’s it to be? scotch straight up?
was that your poison? then I’ll let you go home
your last night on earth

this is fun, sort of, isn’t it? sitting here with you
you seem happy to see me
you touch my cheek I touch yours
your skin is olive warm soft Alsatian
your voice is deep and gentle
you say ich weis nicht in puzzlement

tell me what you’ve been doing
still driving that butcher’s wagon in East Hampton?
no, that was several years ago
I know you saw Grandma on Fifth Avenue last winter
it was snowing you called out to her Elsie! Elsie!
but she walked on, head down
didn’t want to speak to you
after all you deserted her 15 years ago can you blame her?
she’s on her way to her job as theater cashier

let’s finish our drinks
no sense dwelling on the past
you can leave now go up to your room
up the stairs can you make it? you seem unsteady
eyes bleary turn on the gas lamp
hey, you forgot to light it, don’t you hear it hissing?
but you’re already in bed with all your clothes on…slowly dying
goodnight, sweet Grandpa  


Thanks to these three poets from Davis for whipping up some goodies for our Kitchen today!

Good news from JoAnn Anglin of Sacramento, and she hopes some of you can attend either or both of two awards ceremonies, one at 6pm on May 29 in City Hall, 915 I St., 1st floor, Sac.; the other at 10:45 a.m. at the County Bldg., 700 H St., Ste. 1450, Sac. JoAnn is being presented with two awards from Sacramento City and County: she has been selected to receive Chair of the Board of Supervisors' Award of Sac. Metropolitan Arts Council's District Arts Program for Fiscal Year 2011, as well as the District Art Program's Award for Sacramento City's District 6! Congrats, JoAnn!


Today's LittleNip:

On the way to Placerville,

a pair of vultures circle, wings tipping
in the bobbing movement that catches
a filament of air.

In shifting updrafts,
careful as acrobats with balance-poles
they trace the thermal thread of morning.

—Katy Brown, Davis



 —Photo by Ann Privateer