—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
OUR RIVER GATHERING
Somewhere higher in this meadow
the North Fork begins: spring and trickle,
snowmelt finding its flow. Last winter’s snow
almost gone. High summer.
We’ve come for thin air in foothill lungs,
a chilly breeze in shade. Our dogs
swim in a pond where the infant river
pauses. Wildflowers, dragonflies.
Remember other years here,
when we were free on the trails. Even then,
headwaters were a place we couldn’t
stay. Off the highway shoulder,
a fir-meadowed bowl—sudden drop-off
a tangle of contour lines on the map.
As many twists and changes of direction
in a river as a human life.
Before day’s end
we’ll head back downriver, home.
OFF LIMITS AT THE SODA WORKS
That cavern in the old Gold Rush
building, underneath an assembly hall—
the cavern’s cordoned off now, a safety hazard.
It used to be our custom to meet in semi-dark
down there for poetry by Coleman lantern.
In an alcove, an artist worked in silence
at his easel; on his cigarette breaks, we might
peek at his canvas—was it an odalisque
or Sleeping Beauty? Lady of Art’s underworld.
Meanwhile a combo practiced upstairs,
music muffled to the sound of rainwater
on tin roof. The cavern a vestige of Forty-niner
days; how could it meet code? Our poems
off-limits now, in deep dark code of their own.
PILGRIMAGE
Not a trip for ego embracing mountain. It’s just a last-minute drive upcountry short of the lake, the race to resort. We park in a pull-off by a locked gate where sun throws shadows across an untracked rutted road. Bumblebee is making love to a flower we can’t name, its petals almost gone. No wild carrot; pussy-paws hold DG sand together; gooseberry ripens. You wander off the road for a meadow view, find bear-track, can’t find it again to show me. Last of July
whispers of autumn
without a late-morning breeze—
aspen’s leaf-tongue song
MID-SIERRA, NOT TOO LATE
Bumblebee inspects
aster losing its petals
at edge of meadow—
end of flower-season but
bee will bumble to the spot.
Bumblebee inspects
aster losing its petals
at edge of meadow—
end of flower-season but
bee will bumble to the spot.
TARANTULA MIGRATIONS
Almost late summer, coming on early fall. I want to see a tarantula migration. I’ve heard they happen in Fairplay, just downriver from where I lived for a quarter century. I’ve never seen a tarantula in the wild, much less a migration. Earth.com tells me it’s not a true migration, but search for a sweetheart in spaces still left on our planet where spiders can feel alone. The website notes, non-migrating tarantulas may be extending their range north because of Climate Change. I want to see tarantulas on the move in our home county. In the Valley, I might find all-black Aphonopelma johnnycashi (newly discovered species) in the hills near Folsom Prison. As our world contracts and habitats shrink, wild comes out of the figurative woodwork now.
days of shifting sun,
wildness ever on the move—
if I could see it
Almost late summer, coming on early fall. I want to see a tarantula migration. I’ve heard they happen in Fairplay, just downriver from where I lived for a quarter century. I’ve never seen a tarantula in the wild, much less a migration. Earth.com tells me it’s not a true migration, but search for a sweetheart in spaces still left on our planet where spiders can feel alone. The website notes, non-migrating tarantulas may be extending their range north because of Climate Change. I want to see tarantulas on the move in our home county. In the Valley, I might find all-black Aphonopelma johnnycashi (newly discovered species) in the hills near Folsom Prison. As our world contracts and habitats shrink, wild comes out of the figurative woodwork now.
days of shifting sun,
wildness ever on the move—
if I could see it
BLINK OF AN EYE
Toilet overflowing. So much goes on without
our knowing under the house. We called Sergio,
who understands everything. I cleared stuff
away from the trapdoor to crawlspace.
He whipped out a mini-mag and lowered
himself into the dark. I could hear him moving
slowly, searching…. Abruptly
he surfaced, eyes big as an owl’s. An animal
down there, this big!—he gestured.
Black with neon eyes. Do you have a cat?
Where was Blink? How could he sneak
down there, with me hovering at trapdoor?
Wink of an eye—Blink discovering what lies
beyond our knowing, under the house.
Today’s LittleNip:
TIGER SWALLOWTAIL
—Taylor Graham
Flitting butterfly
pauses on incense cedar
for a photo-op—
but that’s just my human take
on everyday miracle.
____________________
A Thursday Thank-you to Taylor Graham for her fine poems and photos today, bringing us all her critters and songs of up-country.
Poetry events in our area start at noon today with Third Thursdays in the Sacramento Room of Sacramento’s central library on I st. Then at 6:30pm, Crocker Art Museum hosts Capital Storytelling at the Crocker, with CSUS Professor Lisa Cantrell (be sure to register). At 8pm, Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe and Juice Bar features Francisco Gonzales plus open mic.
And this just in: Tonight, Poetry in Davis will feature Charles Halstead and Angela James plus open mic at the 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—WILL be—added at the last minute!
—Medusa, celebrating the poetry that is the buzzy bumbling of bees…
—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.
