Buds
—Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
—Poems by Michael H. Brownstein, Townsville, N. Queensland, Australia
A DEATH TO A STUDENT
They hire a guest preacher to mourn him
And he cannot remember the name.
The oldest son no longer controls control
And the child’s teachers sit like snow
Melting quickly into puddles of incoherence,
Black ice, a winter’s sorrow.
Outside,
A cruel blue sky, brilliant and malicious sunlight,
Just a touch of gentle cursed wind,
Air so light, it could not lift a weight in tears.
They hire a guest preacher to mourn him
And he cannot remember the name.
The oldest son no longer controls control
And the child’s teachers sit like snow
Melting quickly into puddles of incoherence,
Black ice, a winter’s sorrow.
Outside,
A cruel blue sky, brilliant and malicious sunlight,
Just a touch of gentle cursed wind,
Air so light, it could not lift a weight in tears.
IT’S ALWAYS NICE TO PUT A FACE ON GRIEF
Who believes in trees?
A racing from ravines on fire?
The safety of sand at the entrance of water?
Soon everything is black faced and charcoal.
A house opens its lid
And lets in the stain of its own destruction.
Elsewhere silence so immense,
Light and texture shape the wind.
Who worships trees?
A race from one space to another?
Two feet of water in the middle of everything?
ERRANDS AND OTHER THINGS OCCUPY MY TIME
and now I look through my list of poems,
a silence so concise it swells into me.
Is there no room for hunger or shame,
the loose breath of the injured fawn
leaning terribly against the injured oak,
its new buds wet with the last blossoms of snow?
Somewhere children are flying kites. It is spring.
Somewhere children are flying kites. It is fall.
The homeless man from the corner tells me
water is the hardest thing to find in the city.
“Can you spare fifty cents? I need a can of cola.”
His teeth are like mine, coated and spoiled.
I give him a quarter and he buys a bag of chips.
Today’s LittleNip:
April’s air stirs in willow-leaves…
a butterfly
floats and balances.
~ ~ ~
In the sea-surf edge
mingling with bright small shells
bush-clover petals.
~ ~ ~
White cloud of mist
above white cherry-blossoms. . .
Dawn-shining mountains.
—Bashō
______________________
Many thanks to Aussie-SnakePal Michael Brownstein for poems all the way from Down Under, and to local SnakePal Taylor Graham for her “Springtime on the Divide” photos!
Please note that Sue Daly is facilitating a writers’ workshop (for women only) every 3rd Thursday, 11:30am, with poetry, journaling and more. 3414 3414 4th Av., Sac. Contact: Missy Kinder (missy@wellspringwomen.org).
—Medusa
Celebrate Poetry!
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