This time, you’ll come along.
So many kinds of gardens up here
where foothills rise toward mountains.
I’ll show you ridges of orchard
fringed by cedar grove dark, roses
on a field-fence. If we do it in October,
we can get ourselves a pumpkin
for the ghosting time—when spirits
who aren’t as everyday lively as you
slip through the cracks between
eternity and time to walk among us.
Bet you’d make that pumpkin
crack a grin just by looking at it,
how you look at a stranger
and everything inside bursts outward.
Yet you retain your cool shy
brand of being—the way you were,
even in this life. Lulled
by tire hum on chipseal, we might
speak of poetry, transformation
by way of symbol: I’d suggest
life as a coiled-up slither, a noose
metaphoring to infinity’s circle-snake;
a halo. Such a lively tour,
imagining you still with us. As you are.
I’ll pick up the tab; your plastic
credit’s dead. All I ask is a small piece,
please, of your forever living smile.
—Medusa, with thanks to Taylor Graham for today's fine poem and photo dedicated to Annie Menebroker, who passed away in July. Celebrate poetry today by attending the memorial reading for Annie to be held at California Stage, 25th & R Sts., Sac., 5:30-8:30pm.