Imperfect Yet Fabulous

—Poetry by Claire J. Baker, Pinole, CA
—Public Domain "Angels of Color" Stock Illustrations

CALIFORNIA HOUR GLASS
(Before and After the Turning)

             (dedicated to Carol Frith,
              a magically-wise poet)

When
hourglass sand
sifts
totally
through, may
the cleared glass
show sunclouds
fringed in
molten silver
in an
electrifying
blue-angel sky

while
the
portion
filling
is the ocean
scintillating
beyond
a clean beach
succulents & poppies
California radiant
among dunes.

THE WHOLE FOODS NUN

We follow her down the aisle.
She pushes a full cart
toward two kids who finger apples
not seeming to care when
she fondles their hair.
Removing a bottle of Blue Nun
from the rack, she smiles
as if she modeled for the label,
but only sips wine at the sacrament.

We invite the friendly Nun
to our picnic by the lake.
At sunset we will all walk
on water: if we sink, we’ll swim.
The Nun accepts our invite & hurries
into a long check-out line where
all agree she should go FIRST.
We point      to our car out front,
charading        we’ll meet her there.

FAMILY CAMP
(California Coast, 2001)

Our tents are colorful mushrooms,
nylon geometry over duff down.
A camp log, weathered silver,
collects a rope of kelp, orange
peels, a No More War t-shirt . . .
Our fifteen tents border
a redwood clearing near water
willows by Butano Creek.

On a day-trip to the coast,
we explore tide pools and sand
dunes, sand specks in our sandwich . . .
After campfire, kids scramble
into tents, snuggle into sleeping
bags and army surplus blankets,
sprawl among parents.

A childlike matriarch, I linger
in a lawn chair to wish upon
the evening star for peace, sanity.
A young redwood sweeps the turf,
shadow-dances on my orange tent.
All campers now are nestled in nylon
cathedrals where a full moon escorts
us into wave-washed dreamscapes.

A YOUNG BOY’S FIRST HIKE

Arjun makes
immortal a long
blade of grass
by pulling the green wish
squeakingly free
and chomping!

IN AN ASPEN GROVE

After hiking in the Sierras,
I rest among aspen trees,
drawn to pale branches’
lively leaves. Safe in a
pristine place, I drift asleep,
dream . . .
fallen angels encircle me
like sunshine. Removing my boots
they wash my feet, refresh my life,
welcome me as a vital member
of the Tribe—
imperfect
yet
fabulous.

A BLACK CHILD
(from the ’70’s)

A black child on ghetto corner
holds a potted Easter Lily,
it reaches to her chin,
the sprung petals pale
as whites of her eyes,
her hope rising, African
dance still in her toes,

a black child waiting
for the blood-red light to
change, so she can place
in her Grandmother’s
worn hands the symbol for
a be-bop figure rising
from the sealed Tomb, pushing
away the weighted stone
in Hallelujah sunrise.

A black child
forgetting that He too
was white.

ONE JUNE AFTERNOON

Mother, using a clean
flour-sack cloth, I polish
for you in the sun
the fine crystal glass
from which each afternoon
you enjoy sipping
your whiskey sour,
then another, another, and . . .

But mother,
first see with me how
your drink absorbs spring
light, turning it golden.
And, mom, see the pastel prisms
moving along the shiny rim
before and after each
crystal sip?

ASSISTED LIVING LIBRARY

We elders cherish every breath,
try one day at a time;
we take it slow, save NRG
for flirting with the sublime.

We’ve survived the Holidays,
leaks and flooded rooms;
kin in trouble, each broken bubble,
family films, and Zooms.

We love our bookish library,
of ideal peace and size:
we borrow mostly “mysteries”—
MURDERS first, then otherwise.

WISTFUL, AT NEW SMART PHONE

Instead of tapping
the too-tiny keyboard,
maybe one day
I’ll breathe so warmly
over this imprisoned
alphabet,
whiz-bang letters will
instantaneously
arrange
themselves into words,
then phrases
for a felt poem’s
fledgling flight
into fabulous freedom!

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:
 
SOME DAYS WHEN

the poet closes all eyes
but the vision
in her spirit, she
hears a humming
from poems
yet to be written.


—Claire J. Baker

___________________

—Medusa, thanking Claire Baker for today’s angelic poetry!

 “imperfect yet fabulous”
—Public Domain Illustration

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