—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
SILENT SCREEN
Mural of a stag pierced by arrows—
flying buttresses like stiff wings poised
for take-off in laudless dark, lightning-rod
on a rock in sea-storm. The air’s too heavy
to breathe—atmosphere dense with history
and myth. Your own subconscious
must have drawn this image, the minster
looking down on marketplace; stone-mouth
gargoyles to ward off evil, while below,
bickering factions of the living
dart here and there making clamorous
innuendo. Sudden alarm-bell of morning—
ringing clear as lauds—the dream fades
with ghost of moon waning. First-light
dawns to breathable air.
Release the image with a word.
GIBBOUS MOON
A pale hunchback climbs his slow path beyond the live-oak. Doesn’t this journey ever get old? What tales will he tell the new moon when it’s born? Such a burden of lovers’ wishes as they wait for perfect fullness, a flawless silver disk, its ring not yet tarnished by hands scrubbing dishes, wielding tools. Moon hunches under his load—who could tell if it’s the pack he carries or the aging moon himself? He grows brighter as daylight bleeds in the west and dark canopies of oak take the skyline. In night sky he’s sovereign of garden secrets.
does the moon whisper
to my still-green tomatoes,
squash too small to pick?
IN THE GARDEN
The great keyaki tree’s green canopy
recalls a faraway land, while three pilings,
sunk into earth and wound with nautical
rope, represent voyage across ocean.
A row of struggling tea plants reminds
how different this soil and climate
from their homeland. Morning’s sky
is smoky-hazed from distant fires
to hitch the breath. Just past a fence,
utility poles to the horizon—weft
of power- and phone-lines of
an outside world.
She sits against a boulder,
wide-brimmed hat under August
sun. Shadows inch across lawn
as green keeps its silence, breathing.
She’s focused on the paper in her lap.
In the moment she’s rooted as those
pilings for the journey, the poem writing
itself in her head.
BEYOND THE BALL FIELD
Where can a soul find
its solitary place if
we fence-off shadow?
A limping coyote hunts
the weedy hunger-meadow.
THE WHOLE CALENDAR IS FIRE SEASON
They stomp the ash from their boots,
wring out bandannas in what’s left of water,
imagining alluvial washout of these burned-
to-soil forest slopes. The benchmark’s
buried in slash; lungs 6 feet under the weight
of smoke. They catch their breath
by this blackened site with its lone rock circle,
then leave it to its stone stories—stones
round as a miller’s wishes when he could
make a livelihood from clear flowing water
and things growing naturally from soil.
ARACHNID ROMANCE
Early mornings I watched her—
silver, motionless under a waxing
moon—in her web behind
the coffee maker. Never moving.
At full, he came. The two of them—
16 legs doing the slowest dance,
glacial dance of ages.
I poured my coffee, carried it away.
When I came back, she was resting
beside her mate—8 legs of him
splayed umbrella-ribs, body missing
but for a tiny connective scrap.
Since moon returned past full,
she inhabits the midst of her web.
He’s become part of her
ceiling furniture.
LEAVING THE CAT IN THE CAR
The sign says “Service Dogs Only.”
She drove in with a cheetah riding shotgun—
it’s not a dog. She parked in the shade
with window rolled down; left the cheetah
in her car as she joined the rest of us in poet-
procession to the old farmhouse, catching
our breath under smoke-cloaked sky.
With cheetah on guard, one needn’t worry
about car thieves. They won’t get close
enough to notice it’s a stuffed cheetah.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
INDIGENOUS
—Taylor Graham
Blue oak shows its wounds,
scars healed over, its scabbed bark
gloving old barb-wire;
generations on the land,
an ancient oak still standing.
______________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for her fine poems and photos as she muses on our recent Seed of the Week: Catching My Breath. Don’t forget that our new SOW is Summer Rain, that blessed interlude in which we can catch our breath from the heat. Send your poems, photos & artwork about this (or any other) subject to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though, and for a peek at our past ones, click on “Calliope’s Closet”, the link at the top of this column, for plenty of others to choose from. From which to choose…
Head into downtown Sacramento at noon today for the monthly Third Thursday at the Central Library poetry read-around on I Street. (See www.facebook.com/events/1991568237800928 for info on what to bring.) Then at 8pm tonight, Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe will present featured readers plus open mic. Or, also at 8pm, the John Natsoulas Gallery on First Street in Davis will present Lara Gularte plus open mic. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
—Medusa
—Anonymous Photo
Celebrate the poetry in a dragonfly’s wing.
Celebrate the poetry in a dragonfly’s wing.
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.
