Frog (Can you see it?)
—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
STOWAWAYS
Every afternoon
I check my rag-mop hung out
to dry—frogs today?
August: our creek doesn’t flow.
Tiny frogs must be thirsty.
AUGUST HALF GONE
Don’t call him forgetful,
though the dandelions went from gold
to fluff-weed, puff of smoke
above the ridge soon lost to blue.
One squash-flower in the garden
clings to green tomato—
that got his attention, it was so odd.
Summer half-gone, a rancher
who sold half his herd and can’t bring
himself to part with the rest.
LEEK SPRINGS 2019/1849
July, escape from heat of our golden foothills.
Easy drive upcountry, to green meadow in shade
of conifers. I’ve heard the Forty-niners came
this way to California gold. Did they pause
for pasture by this clear cold stream? Headwaters
of North Fork Cosumnes. Behind them, granite
walls where they needed rope, levers and crowbars
to lift wagons up to Carson Pass. We trust our
4x4 pickup to get us back to pavement and safely
down the long ridge, home. Just past cattleguard,
a quick look over the side: land’s sudden plunge
into Camp Creek. We’ll follow its ridge down-
mountain as it hurries to join the North Fork,
miles out of sight. Did those Forty-niners have
a map of all these waters’ weavings, wagon-
busting carvings of our country forever-gold?
SANDCASTLES
Along dry creekbed, my weed-whacker
uncovers sand-works that weren’t
here last summer, obscured by spring grass
and thistle, nameless invasive
weeds dead and bone-brittle now.
Might panning reveal flakes of gold?
What used to be a low island between arms
of the creek at flood-stage
has merged with the west bank.
Fortifications of erosion. Like boundaries
on a map, shifting allegiances.
The east arm has gouged a deeper moat.
Sandcastle remains, baked
to hardpan. Come next winter’s rains,
who knows what earth withstands.
What new edifice of sand?
A FABLE OF THE LAKE
Once there was a camp for child-
survivors. A week of fun and healing
by the lake. A small boy
built a sand castle on a broken bottle
he found discarded on the beach.
He said his castle would cover the whole
mess. That was many years ago.
Today, how big a castle
would a child have to build
to cover a summer’s thrown-out trash?
A FRAYED LINE
shines spider-web silver
in early morning light rayed
behind the oak tree
and over the sunrise hill,
sun magnified as rainbow orb
reflecting on a week’s wash
wearing out its history.
One day we’ll replace
the umbrella clothesline
but not this moment, not today.
Today’s LittleNip:
SIERRA WHISPER
—Taylor Graham
(a deibide baise fri toin)
We come here
for high mountain air—crisp, clear,
gathered in water ice-blue.
True,
a quiver
in green aspen leaves, shiver
of August wind’s warning call:
Fall.
____________________
Thursday thank-yous to Taylor Graham for her poems and photos today, with such whispers of Fall about them, as we stumble through the heat into Labor Day. For more about the Deibide Baise Fri Toin poetry form, see www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/deibide-baise-fri-toin-poetic-forms/.
—Medusa, celebrating poetry!
Dewdrops on Spider Web in the Sun
—Anonymous Photo from British Columbia, Canada
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