—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
IS IT SPRING YET?
8 eggs now in the wild turkey nest uncovered by
chance, under a slash-pile on the hill’s backside.
One egg added each day; soon the hen will be
brooding her clutch. But for now, she dusts
herself in ground-squirrel diggings at our edge of
lawn. We’re a third of the way through April, and
still our nestboxes are empty—no house-wren
jumble of twigs, no mat of moss and fur for
flycatcher babies, no swallow’s dry grass cup
trimmed in feathers. Not yet.
in bluebird’s nestbox
nothing but winter’s whitewash
and a new spring’s hope
8 eggs now in the wild turkey nest uncovered by
chance, under a slash-pile on the hill’s backside.
One egg added each day; soon the hen will be
brooding her clutch. But for now, she dusts
herself in ground-squirrel diggings at our edge of
lawn. We’re a third of the way through April, and
still our nestboxes are empty—no house-wren
jumble of twigs, no mat of moss and fur for
flycatcher babies, no swallow’s dry grass cup
trimmed in feathers. Not yet.
in bluebird’s nestbox
nothing but winter’s whitewash
and a new spring’s hope
ACQUAINTED WITH THE HAWK,
the one who owned this land before we came,
rising above the oak that clutched her nest
with fuzzy hawkling. Famished was his name.
She rose above us like a sterner test
of will, then settled. We settled as well,
and watched her drone the oak woods east to west
in search of prey to feed her child. The spell
of hunger-hunter held our songbirds deep
as shadows in the brush. And who could tell,
for lack of birdsong in our wake or sleep,
what bird had been bright feathers scattered, strewn
at edge of wood? secret the wildwoods keep.
Our hawk (she’s no more ours than is the moon)
regards us with her eye from granite hewn.
BEAUTIFUL OUTLAW: JAY
We execrate a braggart unpleasantly pugnacious, quirky, quizzical, bravura personified, yesterday he robbed a nest, today he hangs by toenail talons from the feeder—cracked corn!
Intelligence is tested differently in birds—just quiz him without words, to wit: how he very deftly hides his pine-nuts for winter in x-spots no other bird might see.
Black-masked blue jinx, joker—witness a funeral for his dead: blood-curdle alarm so all quit their foraging, converge noisier, a zenith of cacophonous grief—he mourns his own?
MIDLIFE AFTERLIFE
The hall clock groaned midnight
as you thumbed through old photographs—
fading ink ghosts of the dead and gone.
You turned out the light
just as a light ignited on the opposite
side of canyon. Dark in between.
And just then you heard the owl,
enchantress of the night,
calling what might be your name.
ANY DAY
What sort of gift transforms
dead wood to lunar light-burst?
A word, a phrase….
Picture the old oak stump
in simple daylight
suddenly erupting with a stream
of wings silver-glistening
in cold air, rising ever higher,
disappearing into sky.
The magic?
This everyday world can make
even termites beautiful.
NO MORE
I picked my way down the slope steep-slick with
wet rock—every step a hazard. Close to the
turkey-nest slash pile, I set my iPad on camera to
document today’s egg-count. No eggs! A disaster.
What critter raided the nest? I looked closer. No
eggs. Just a jumble of gray and brown branches,
a few live-oak leaves clinging dull-yellow to twigs,
and—turkey hen perfectly camouflaged. She
hunched spread-out over her nest; head a periscope
regarding me with one distrustful eye. I took a
picture, knowing it would look like nothing but
a pile of slash.
what hides in dead-fall
in the woods just waking up
from winter? just wait
Today’s LittleNip:
VIBRANT GREEN
—Taylor Graham
On my dry-creek hike,
out of summer’s sun-burned nest—
rising green-feathered
as if stretching to first flight,
a sequoia ever-green.
____________________
Hearty thanks to Taylor Graham for her thoughts about spring and nesting—including her weekly reports on the turkey nest on her property—and her photos of this year's wonderful spring poppies!
Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe and Juice Bar presents featured readers and open mic tonight at 8pm; and Ladies of the Knight (Poetry Overturned) plus open mic takes place in Davis tonight at Poetry in Davis, John Natsoulas Gallery, 8pm. 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.
And today, April 18, is National Poem in Your Pocket Day, so load up with poems and hand them out. Info: www.poets.org/national-poetry-month/poem-your-pocket-day/.
—Medusa (Celebrate Poetry!—and poppies, our state flower!)
—Anonymous Photo
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
