Christine Easterly
—Photo by Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
BLOOMED
—Christine Easterly, Sacramento
Mi hijo, you perfect me
Nothing of you frightens me
In my wiser years,
I have climbed mountains,
turned back to help others,
created and built my own new life
Yet I can see you now as I didn’t before
You’re in the rye fields,
or working harvest
You’re running and winning,
and running (afraid)
flat out, under the moon
No words can contain my love for you
But by the grace
— the amazing grace —
of time, and the tides,
I am bloomed
The very air is dancing me for bees
Love
________________________
IN THE NIGHTTIME
Mi hijo, you perfect me
Nothing of you frightens me
In my wiser years,
I have climbed mountains,
turned back to help others,
created and built my own new life
Yet I can see you now as I didn’t before
You’re in the rye fields,
or working harvest
You’re running and winning,
and running (afraid)
flat out, under the moon
No words can contain my love for you
But by the grace
— the amazing grace —
of time, and the tides,
I am bloomed
The very air is dancing me for bees
Love
________________________
IN THE NIGHTTIME
—Christine Easterly
When we had bunk beds
I’d drop down from the top,
lean over my sister
and open her eyelid
to see what her eye was doing
while she slept
The streetlights
– my backlighting –
were bright enough
to reveal me
if she woke
But I became skilled
at shielding her eyes
with my body,
so she slept
And I,
I dreamed
of what other mysteries
I might uncover in the nighttime—
the sleeping form
the orbs
the heavenly bodies
_____________________
TWO DOGS
When we had bunk beds
I’d drop down from the top,
lean over my sister
and open her eyelid
to see what her eye was doing
while she slept
The streetlights
– my backlighting –
were bright enough
to reveal me
if she woke
But I became skilled
at shielding her eyes
with my body,
so she slept
And I,
I dreamed
of what other mysteries
I might uncover in the nighttime—
the sleeping form
the orbs
the heavenly bodies
_____________________
TWO DOGS
—Christine Easterly
One, my girl, burnished bright as a penny
the other, massive,
her bruiser brother—
dragged a tree trunk from the creek
the better to impress us with
The day we brought him home
she humped him around the front yard
til he flipped her
and left holes in her head
He dug out those rodents
large bags of blood,
teeth bared,
the two of them ripped the animals to pieces
without notice,
gamely braving the den, the cars,
the shouts of alarm
in the New Jersey woods
Six feet of snow covered our paths
our trails, their
windlassed tails
forging ever forward
One, my girl, burnished bright as a penny
the other, massive,
her bruiser brother—
dragged a tree trunk from the creek
the better to impress us with
The day we brought him home
she humped him around the front yard
til he flipped her
and left holes in her head
He dug out those rodents
large bags of blood,
teeth bared,
the two of them ripped the animals to pieces
without notice,
gamely braving the den, the cars,
the shouts of alarm
in the New Jersey woods
Six feet of snow covered our paths
our trails, their
windlassed tails
forging ever forward
JoAnn Anglin translates Graciela Ramirez at the Shine Cafe
August 28, 2013
—Photo by Michelle Kunert
HAPPENSTANCE
—Christine Easterly
It happens working
my fingers to the bone
knit stitch then purl
wool aworl
It happens working
circumference of flight
frog dug shrug breaststroke
until waning daylight
It happens working
my toes through the sand
rivulets, rivers, and sandbars unplanned
worlds away wasted
bridges now spanned
It happens working
mindfully slow
lost in the ether
letting full go
It happens working
in moment unplanned
I reach for and capture
the feel of your hand
It happens working
each day by 3:00
the bird sings
the gears grind
and I think of thee
______________________
SHOUT
It happens working
my fingers to the bone
knit stitch then purl
wool aworl
It happens working
circumference of flight
frog dug shrug breaststroke
until waning daylight
It happens working
my toes through the sand
rivulets, rivers, and sandbars unplanned
worlds away wasted
bridges now spanned
It happens working
mindfully slow
lost in the ether
letting full go
It happens working
in moment unplanned
I reach for and capture
the feel of your hand
It happens working
each day by 3:00
the bird sings
the gears grind
and I think of thee
______________________
SHOUT
—Christine Easterly
I don’t know you
And I’ve stopped being on the lookout
Heck, I wouldn’t even know what to prize
So here’s what I am
My body’s joy:
swimming in fjords, naked
flying without wings
hitting notes with harmonizing friends
My mind’s delight:
late-night philosophizing
games with my statistician uncle
reading (or writing) any unexpected turn of phrase
My soul’s food:
birdsong, whale song
my women, my men
each life I discover on the beach, in the woods
the smell of damp and fire, camping and stars
Of the world, these are my spaces:
Manhattan
Gabarone, Botswana
a water-carved open sphere of rock on New Zealand’s south island
Of my heart, these fill my eyes:
Larry’s Party
Desiderata
The Human Comedy
So that’s what I am
Take a bit
Ride along for a while
Shout from your passing car
_____________________
Our thanks to today's contributors, and welcome to the Kitchen, Christine! Christine Easterly graduated from Miami University with a Master's in Technical and Scientific Communication. She has been writing poetry for 30 years and has begun reading at open mics in Sacramento. Christine was recently published in WTF?! This is her first feature. Christina will be reading with others at the National Kidney Foundation Benefit at the Shine Cafe on Sept. 18. See "More Than a Week Away" in the blue box (under the green box) at the right of this column for details.
Michelle Kunert has taken photos at two recent readings in Sacramento: Poetry With Legs at the Shine Cafe last Wednesday, and Red Fox Underground featuring at Sac. Poetry Center this past Monday. See Medusa's Facebook page for those photos, and thanks, Michelle!
Tonight the Poetry Night Reading Series in Davis will feature Bob Stanley, President of the Sac. Poetry Center and Poet Laureate Emeritus of Sacramento, plus open mic. That's 8pm at the John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St., Davis. Host: Andy Jones.
_____________________
Today's LittleNip:
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.
—T.S. Eliot
____________________
—Medusa
I don’t know you
And I’ve stopped being on the lookout
Heck, I wouldn’t even know what to prize
So here’s what I am
My body’s joy:
swimming in fjords, naked
flying without wings
hitting notes with harmonizing friends
My mind’s delight:
late-night philosophizing
games with my statistician uncle
reading (or writing) any unexpected turn of phrase
My soul’s food:
birdsong, whale song
my women, my men
each life I discover on the beach, in the woods
the smell of damp and fire, camping and stars
Of the world, these are my spaces:
Manhattan
Gabarone, Botswana
a water-carved open sphere of rock on New Zealand’s south island
Of my heart, these fill my eyes:
Larry’s Party
Desiderata
The Human Comedy
So that’s what I am
Take a bit
Ride along for a while
Shout from your passing car
_____________________
Our thanks to today's contributors, and welcome to the Kitchen, Christine! Christine Easterly graduated from Miami University with a Master's in Technical and Scientific Communication. She has been writing poetry for 30 years and has begun reading at open mics in Sacramento. Christine was recently published in WTF?! This is her first feature. Christina will be reading with others at the National Kidney Foundation Benefit at the Shine Cafe on Sept. 18. See "More Than a Week Away" in the blue box (under the green box) at the right of this column for details.
Michelle Kunert has taken photos at two recent readings in Sacramento: Poetry With Legs at the Shine Cafe last Wednesday, and Red Fox Underground featuring at Sac. Poetry Center this past Monday. See Medusa's Facebook page for those photos, and thanks, Michelle!
Tonight the Poetry Night Reading Series in Davis will feature Bob Stanley, President of the Sac. Poetry Center and Poet Laureate Emeritus of Sacramento, plus open mic. That's 8pm at the John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St., Davis. Host: Andy Jones.
_____________________
Today's LittleNip:
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.
—T.S. Eliot
____________________
—Medusa
Irene Lipshin reads with Red Fox Underground
Sac. Poetry Center, Sept. 2, 2013
—Photo by Michelle Kunert
