—Michael Cluff, Corona
A dozen years ago
is hard to forget
as much as one may want
them to be encoffined
in the steel and mortar
of chosen avoidance.
Yet,
this is also Hispanic Heritage,
International Square Dancing,
Self-improvement, Better Breakfast
and National Courtesy Month.
The better side of life
can offset one day
of shattering cataclysm
so easily
if one is open enough
to let all above
and others
in.
—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento
"Besides, alas—though it is my misery that
even so, it will be my demise
and won't gain me praise 'till I'm dead and long gone..."
—Taylor Graham, Placerville
This house full of things—pry-bar
and baskets, bolts and springs, slant
of light through blinds at approaching
dusk—this house is a box. I sit
with a book of poems with a tree
on its cover. It’s not a real tree, just
on paper, in a box. In my mind I can
climb the living tree from branch
to branch, out of the box that is
the house, the book, myself. Climb
as high as my thought of climbing.
_______________________
FREEDOMS OF JULY
—Taylor Graham
My young dog races over stumps and mounds,
knowing the leash is ready in my hands.
Freedom is running loose inside the bounds
of formal boxes and the woven strands
of stockwire keeping garden from the sheep.
And while the leash is ready in my hands
I stop to pull one weed—its roots reach deep—
past stockwire, sweets of garden for the sheep.
Look, everything’s gone wild with blossom-heat.
I’ve heard, nip the bud lest a young plant die.
I toss that to the other side. A treat,
this fresh, cool morning. Look, my dog would fly
from gate to open swale, and farther yet.
Who said, nip the bud lest a young plant die?
Some rules are empty boxes. Let’s forget
and just go running foot-free in dry grass
from gate to open swale, and farther yet;
declare a holiday as hours pass.
My young dog races over stumps and mounds,
I’d like to join her barefoot in the grass.
Freedom is running loose inside the bounds.
_____________________
TALE OF THE EMPTY WHELPING BOX
—Taylor Graham
It started at midnight, the first puppy slipping out, guppy-form
comforts of dogs we’d ever known. One of a kind. We named
her Loki: trickster, shape-shifter; but, if we looked her in the
eyes, one in the great family, the friendship of dogs.
AND THAT’S HOW IT ALL BEGAN
—Kevin Jones, Elk Grove
Just finished moving into our
First home in California.
Glanced out and saw
On the porch, one of the
Empty moving boxes moving.
Went to check. Inside,
The tiny gray tuxedo cat
Looked at us, seemed to say
To its Siamese partner
“They’re not too impressive,
But they may do.”
—Medusa