The Tea of Miracles

—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis

TEA FOR TWO
—Claire J. Baker, Pinole

1.
Relaxed, we sip
the tea of miracles.

Our essence evolves
as real as breathing.

Expansive, we add
oxygen to the air.

In these rare moments
we are each other.

2.
Pity and
compassion—

one
a straight line,
the other
a curve.

______________________

THE SCARY THINGS

—William S. Gainer, Grass Valley

Has anyone told you
they love you
today?

I do.

I’m trying to
practice
that more

remembering to say
the real
scary things...

____________________

NIGHT SHADOWS IN THE GARDEN ALONE
        (the first love poem of her leaving)
—William S. Gainer

In the shape
of a sparrow
trying to find
comfort

new leaves
sprout
from the crotch
of the branches

they’ll spend
the summer
before
taking flight.

I miss them
her
already.

—Photo by Katy Brown

LOWELL'S BIRTHDAY RIDE (3/1)
—B.Z. Niditch, Brookline, MA

In the distance
of his red eye
is Cambridge
when first lights
up every cause
of a young poet
steeped in history
of the most disagreeable
chapters of his past
solitude,
diffused by sunshine
along the Charles River
hurling cigarette papers
from the rain coat
of extravagance
given from
a no-named soul
at a one-night stand-up
comedian's routine
at a Cape Cod club,
seeing himself
in reflections
of the river
preoccupied by images
of that silent film
about the whale
luring words out to you
off the Coast
of New England,
now dissolving
into the past time
of troubled ventures,
feeling alive
as a luxury of shadows
around a kiosk
of all kinds of newspapers
and flowers
in Harvard Square,
oblivious to a March cold
but not to new foliage
of reddened orange
in an already seasoned face
holding his small suitcase
half opened
full of garbled notes,
swearing under
his frozen breath
a dressed down
verbal speech,
unwilling to turn back
from any young reaction
at a union for peace
with his missionary zeal
with language.

___________________

NONNY'S ORANGE-PEEL BREAD
—Taylor Graham, Placerville

Yesterday Ina gave me two ripe oranges
from her tree. I ate one, but neglected to
save the peel for grandmother's-bread.
The other orange rolled off the sink. Loki
ran to grab it—a ball? It smelled wrong.
Last week, she would have bitten into
fleshy skin, puckered up her puppy face,
and squirted juice onto linoleum. Now
she's a lady almost grown to manners.
So she left it untouched, and lay down
with a bone. I indiscreetly tore the peel
off with my fingernails, bit into paradise,
juice dripping on linoleum. Nonny knew
I never would grow up to be a lady.

____________________

DOG MAGICIANS
—Taylor Graham

I've known one who could levitate three shoes
from bedroom closet to the entry hall,
to show how long I'd left him in the blues.
On goat-trails winding above canyon wall
I've known one who went trotting on-the-seek
abracadabra at sheer edge of fall,
what trick to tight-walk a wild-rushing creek.
And, days when all the world stretched barren sand,
I've known one who could make the desert speak,
draw water from mirage by sleight-of-hand,
and not attach it to a balance-sheet.
I've known one who made home a wonderland.
    They say that trust in magic's indiscreet.
    Here's my dog, magic lying at my feet.

___________________

Our thanks to today's contribs, and a mighty fine stew it is! Some of our poets are discreetly (or not so discreetly—see below) tackling the Seed of the Week: Indiscreet. And you might consider rassling a terza rima, our current Form to Fiddle With. I'm all for any form that has repeated lines; the less work, the better!

The Internet is a dandy thing, for sure, but not infallible. Earlier this week, a notice was posted on Facebook saying that D.R. Wagner's reading this Thursday at the John Natsoulas Gallery in Davis had been cancelled. 'Twarn't true: the reading will go on as planned, 8pm, 521 First St. Be there!

___________________

Today's LittleNip:

WHY DON’T WE DO IT IN THE ROAD?
        —Mick Jagger, Keith Richards

Been hearing  impaired for as long
As I can remember.  Hoped, really
Wanted it to be due to rock ‘n roll,
But the diagnosis was just genetic.
So always heard the word as
“in the street.”  Then I saw it
Written out—“indiscreet.” But still,
What better place for it?

—Kevin Jones, Elk Grove

__________________

—Medusa

Area residents will remember the old craft store,

The Wishing Well, the ghost of which

still lives on.

—Photo by Katy Brown