—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
BRIGHT AS ORANGE IN MEMORY
Pumpkins arrayed in front of Home Depot
are color-coordinated this October morning
with shiny new chipper-shredders and
pots of autumn mums. Everything’s orange
including the corporate logo. Orange
of Halloween. Orange was Cowboy’s color.
Old ghost-dog now, who sensed—by nose
or ear or maybe ESP—when I slid open
a certain dresser drawer in dark before dawn
and soundlessly withdrew a certain
orange T-shirt with Search-and-Rescue logo.
His shirt. Instantly from a far corner
of the house he was beside me, panting
anticipation. We were going to play his game,
hide-and-seek, dog-go-find! In chilly
Friday air, in front of Home Depot, I feel
his spirit through that permeable membrane
of time/place, death/life, breath warm
as fall sunshine, scenting for me to find him.
HARVEST, FATE
Farmer’s Market’s in full leafage under a blue
bowl of sky. On the edges, green canopy of trees
flushing into their fall. It’s the fruitful season and
just out of sight sits the lady of harvest in all her
colors. Midday she selects the shady corners for
gleaning. Sun has scribed her face with fortune-
circles, calls her by name no one knows. I call
her Lesen. These early weeks of fall still saving
daylight, mothers herd kids toward realms of
letters, numbers, figures; cities of progress, their
future. The lady of harvest keeps to a corner of
her choosing. I keep walking, not to be late.
blackbird’s sweetest song
shimmers silver as it flies
against slanted sun
HEART WOOD
Power’s turned off lest wind blow down a tree
to hit live-wire, to spark conflagration
through the countryside. I drive back home—
through the gate, before part of a great live-oak
crashes at our edge of driveway. Lucky
I am, to escape what the north wind conjures.
I hurry down to see—the oak split between
main trunks made weak; under the bark,
a ring of red—rot, insect damage, who knows?
I snap photos, and find a sort of valentine.
Time has conjured of the oak a broken heart.
SPELL OF SILENCE
Wind slapped the house broadside
then went still, along with daytime TV’s
stream of idiotic laughter. Power
out. The only illumination
was sunlight filtered through hectic
foliage out the window.
Weather’s a matter of chance
in this quirky little canyon, measured
by an hourglass beyond
our knowing. Storm passed, leaving
one great oak toppled across
our driveway.
MUSEUM PIECES
Walls two feet thick—“rock and rubble”
construction of Gold Rush days. It’s dark inside
even with iron shutters open. The stairs give
a hitch to the pelvis on cool mornings, arthritis
knocking at the joints of an old structure.
Articulate knee and shoulder. On a downstairs
shelf, a potpourri pie, its aromatics long
faded, like the lady who made it, and topped
it with a cornhusk bow.
OUTSIDE THE PAGES
She stopped me along my way—
ancient mariner of the land-waves, traveler
of earthen paths she was, wrapped in a scarf
embroidered as a garden of vines sun-
warmed against October cold. She had a tale
she had to tell me, words soft as falling leaves,
leaves ecstatic in their fall from tree to earth,
accomplishing the cycle of lives they leave
to become again in the rot and meld of soil.
She was so old and toothless speaking softly
as wind through leaves, I couldn’t catch
her drift of words but just the way
they drifted beyond language conjuring
the drift of man from land to land,
all history in her tale of passing.
Today’s LittleNip:
COUNTRY TRAFFIC
—Taylor Graham
Pickups whizz past two
boys walking the road shoulder.
Ears pricked as tall as
they grow, burro in pasture
marvels at travelers on foot!
_____________________
Thanks to Taylor Graham for conjuring up a few tales for this October morning, and photos to go with them! If you’re looking for a poetry event in our area tonight, Poetry Unplugged at Luna’s Cafe is happening at 8pm in Sacramento with featured readers and open mic. Free, but please partake of Art Luna’s fine food and libations.
Poetry East is currently accepting submissions for the Fall 2019 issue. See poetryeast.org/submissions/.
Don’t forget to send me some poems/photos/artwork about the Sacramento environs by TONIGHT, in honor of Sac. Poetry Day tomorrow. That’s kathykieth@hotmail.com/.
And while you’re sending me poem/photos/artwork, add something for Halloween (next Weds.)! The scary snakes of Medusa are especially hungry for news about and tales of All Hallows’ Eve…
—Medusa
—Anonymous Mums
(Celebrate poetry!)
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