That Sudden Crack of Destiny

Fence

—Poems by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA

—Photos by Taylor Graham

IN THIS POEM:



What the breeze tells a lace curtain
at the open window.
A woman in thrift-store faded black
finding first-morning sun
against the dance-studio’s reflective glass.
Black bear, muzzle on paws, every
human word in her eyes.
Dry Creek tearing out a fence stretched
against its flow.
That man with backpack traveling
dark under streetlights.
The girl who walked along the pond,
not even hearing the frogs.
Sudden lightning without thunder
needling true north.
The lace curtain touching your shoulder
without a wind.

A TURN IN THE TRAIL

Down from the ponds, beside
alder creek under slopes of incense cedar
and ponderosa pine, across
plank bridges, following the windings
and twinings of trails, suddenly
a sequoia grove—
so far from ocean, coastal redwoods
like guardians flanking the trail.
A shiver
in daylight. If aspen has its angels,
why not sequoia?
A bank of violets in blue-
purple bloom ahead of spring.
The creek ran,
soothing rocks with its fluid fingers,
its song never out of place.

WINGED OUTLAW

Hu-huuu-huu-huu—the fell sky-raider quiets its wings; just verging the rim; pulsing exact by zenith—lamb beware!

Soundless as night itself, a shepherd’s jinx; quicksilver puzzle-mystery of disappearance discovered by daylight.

Shiver-quiver just at dawn. Count your sheep for the missing. Subtract the zero x’d out. No trace. One ewe in frantic-panicked mourning. Whooo?

ALL AT ONCE

How many of those tiny sylvan creatures
in an acre? I couldn’t say. But check the rocky
hillside. They’ve all opened up their umbrellas,
each with a white topknot of umbrella flowers.
Way too many to count. How long,
do you think, before they take over the world?

 

 SUDDENLY

You heard tell, remnants of an ancient golden
riverbed glimmer on a ridgetop cutbank, shining
every color of precious stone. You set out,
adventurer, to find it. Up the steep hills,
squinting for a glint of golden gravel.
Bad roads overgrown, dead-ends. A land
where forty-niners rearranged the landscape
and tunneled far below. What holds? Gold. Sun
in your eye. A jolt.
Half-plunge one wheel into sinkhole sunk you.
No cellphone. Quite stuck. Poetic justice.
Without attention, can poetic license save you?

ONCE LIFE BECOMES HISTORY

The golden time, creek so rich they built a town
on top of it, you could pay for a house
with the pay-dirt of its foundation.
Abruptly punctuated: that’s all
there is, there isn’t any
more—at least, not for easy pickins.
The song stayed golden for as long as it
lasted. History puts its period to every sentence.

 Oaks

Today’s LittleNip:

ON THE HILLTOP
—Taylor Graham

That gaunt old oak sloughing bark,
nudged by so many storms,
its shadow stretched with sun-downs
as it follows into dark—

what human invention could hold it
upright? No urgent call but
gravity, that silent pull. When comes
the sudden crack of destiny?

__________________

Thank you, Taylor Graham, for some fine, sudden surprises today, writing about our recent Seed of the Week: Suddenly!

Don’t forget that, in addition to the usual Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe tonight at 8pm, Third Thursdays in the Central Library meets at noon today in downtown Sacramento. And tonight at 8pm, D.R. Wagner and Dave Boles (plus open mic) read at Poetry in Davis at the John Natsoulas Gallery in Davis. 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 added at the last minute.

—Medusa

 Celebrate poetry!—and poetic license! 

(And yes, Taylor Graham, poetic license can indeed save us!)

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.