D. R. and Daughters (Altered Photo)
—Poems and Photos by D.R. Wagner, Locke, CA
WE HAVE NO INFORMATION
We were unable to revive him.
No one is supposed to be that color
Except perhaps a lobster, blue, yellow,
White, orange and black in the same body.
His skin looked like ancient Roman glass.
There was an oily sheen that reflected
Light like motor oil mixed with water.
His mouth was broken. We supposed
He had said something that did not fit in it.
It looks like he was starting to smile
But everything collapsed before it got there.
His car was still shaking. It kept it up
For about three hours but here was no wind.
And it wasn’t running. It did not make any noise.
You are not supposed to know any of this.
There was no identification on his body.
By the time the police got there, all that was left
Was the car.
If anyone asks you about this, act like you
Don’t know anything and claim that
You were just reading a poem. Everyone
Will believe you and leave you alone.
Russell's Truck
THE BLANK ROOM
Stairs that go nowhere
No matter how long you climb them.
Against the back wall, can after
Can of lightning, mostly dented.
The labels read, Flower Girl Lightning.
Alive, yet not Alive.
Years ago they had kept harvested
Ice in this room. Most of the Summer
It was cool and damp, with little light.
The cutting tools remained in stacks
Along the walls, gray and dark,
Piles of sharp teeth pointing in
All directions.
We had made a promise to be here.
It was a way to collect memories
That could be had in few other ways.
“You should try it,” they had said.
“Nobody has died yet.” But that
Was a lie. There were galvanized
Pails full of keys near the door.
In the compound yard, in what
Used to be corrals, great piles
Of boots and shoes reached higher
Than a two-story building. There
Were hundreds of them. Gray and silent
Children roamed over them, collecting
Laces, plying them into great ropes
Used to bind the abandoned
Ocean liners to the rotting docks.
“Can you believe people still manage
To live here?” Ramon asked politely.
“No,” I answered. “Why do they do so?”
“There is no place else anywhere
Even remotely like this place.”
THE FOG AT NIAGARA FALLS
So thick it spilled over
The gorge lip, filling
The streets with a dense white
Wall, stealing every sound
The night chanced to create.
A blank stillness
Devouring streets, buildings,
Houses, light itself.
There was nothing else
In the world, only fog.
Baxter and I stepped outside
His home just to see,
Just to hear this kind of voice.
Then we walked in opposite
Directions for a short time,
Turned and ran toward each other,
Arms outstretched, flying past
Each other like thick phantoms
Visible only for an instant.
We did this two or three times.
Each time a surprise,
An event, as we passed
Each other in this peculiar dark.
For years we carved this event
Separately. Still it remained
The same in both our recollections.
Such is fog.
It holds moments
As singular things,
A permeable loud
Resting upon the ground
For a time gathering
Events and lives to itself.
Dispersing again without a trace.
Except these notes remembering.
Except the friendship recalled,
Our lives somehow linked
Because of it, arms outstretched,
Shearing through the night.
THE HOME OF THE VAMPIRE
with a line by Melissa Studdard
Of course it was a great pile,
Battlements and turrets and half-
Turrets. Collapsed staircases.
Hundreds of rooms, most of them quite small.
One could spread one’s arms and touch the nether
Walls. Small windows allowed quicksilver light
Into the rooms. All color faded. “Have you
Learned anything by being here? A prayer perhaps?”
I saw a small lawn with rows of cages, each
With a cloud of a different color within.
“I keep these for the various seasons,”
The vampire had said in the same tone
With which he had explained the moats
Filled with stars in nets heaped far below
The water. “These are from the temples,”
He had said, laughing softly to himself.
Occasionally he would explain
That he needed to touch me.
But I would hand him a rock
And he would be placated for awhile.
Turning it over and over in his hands,
Studying its shape as he held it
At arms’ length.
“You have a most interesting spine,”
He announced to me as we climbed
Toward the halls where he kept the whirlwinds.
“Yes,” I said, “it allows me to fly or sail if I must.”
He fumbled with his keys, trying
To find those that fit the dry, yet festered
Wood he used to build the doors to those rooms.
“It took me years to find the correct wood to keep
These things here. They love black leaves,
You know,” he added, as he slid the bones
Of the bolts aside and we watched them
Flash in great rooms lit by constant lightning
Flashes.
“Will you always live here?” I asked.
“I come here to pray and to recall the taste
Of lips. I have no time to think or eat properly
Or to rest. I keep beehives around the castle.
The sound soothes me, as do the rooms
With the great waterfalls. Come, I will show
You these rooms. Have you a taste for blood?”
Gardens Before the Rain, Locke
A SMALL SEASON IT WAS
I saw her in the field
And then, a park,
And then, beside the sea.
Fresh as fire, rising like the waves,
All lodgings for the heart.
And I, unable to explain,
Undone before the dawn,
Raised the moment with
A silence, broke it with a song.
She wore the story cloak.
She cut the houses of the wind.
She bent the willow to the ground.
She leapt upon the clouds.
She was not here to soothe
Or to smooth the garments of the sun.
The day explained itself to her
Before the morning had begun.
I drew her to my core
But never touched her more.
I was in love’s own thrall.
All of heaven was a floor.
The path along to the cliff edge.
What do you believe sir?
What is the coat you wore?
See over on the mountain,
The night and the morning
Are walking hand in hand.
When the day was made,
Huddled up in haze,
The weather slept within
Each one us, such a small
Season it was.
SHE WILL BE RIGHT HERE, SOMEONE SAID
I understand that I am trespassing
Where your heart takes transit to comfort
Yourself during the last parts of the day.
I only did it because I must. I have no moment
Where I can walk through the house drawing the curtains
Against the coming of the night and shaking the fires
Gently to pull a little more light from them for a few hours.
I too miss the embrace that the wind can give the changing
light.
light.
I too must know the softness some words can have, filtered
Through a walk along the sloughs beside the darking oaks.
I hear the creak of the masts in the bending of their great
trunks.
trunks.
But mostly, I came here to walk with you, knowing that your
words
words
Have been here and that the hosts of lovers who moved through
These exact words found solace here for a quick moment,
The smell of your skin, the touch of the leaves like your lover.
________________
Thank you, D.R. Wagner, for today’s fine poems and pix, and we’re sending you our high hopes that your health issues are resolving. D.R. and other Lockians are looking forward to today’s posthumous book release at the Moon Café Gallery in Locke, 2pm, featuring Patricia Hickerson’s new book, Outcry, from R.L Crow Publications, edited by Cynthia Linville.
In the “nobody ever tells me anything” department, I’ve been advertising the Billy Collins/Aimee Mann Calperformance this Sunday at UCB; turns out they’ll also be presenting their music, poetry and a conversation about the creative process at UC Davis on Monday at 8pm at the Mondavi Center. See www.mondaviarts.org/event/2015-16/aimee-mann-billy-collins?event_id=1631&season=2015
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Today’s LittleNip:
FANDANGO
—D.R. Wagner
for
Steven Smith
I was in this wading room
Setting the changes
Except the
wading was
More like waiting
Just a few small waves
Carrying
messages
From friends
Maybe written
In color so we could
Read through
the bottle
About how we got here.
—Medusa
—Medusa
—Anonymous Photo
April is National Poetry Month!
Celebrate today by heading off to Locke for
Pat Hickerson's book release, or to Placerville for
Pat Hickerson's book release, or to Placerville for
Poetic License read-around, 2pm, Placerville Sr. Center,
937 Spring St. (suggested topic: "corner").
Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.