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Thursday, December 19, 2019

A World of Books

—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
 


SOUTH SLOPE CHRISTMAS
        Coloma 1847



Those men at the sawmill, turning once-live 

trees into wood to build someone’s distant 

empire—did they look across the river at sun 

gleaming the opposite hill, and wonder? 


On holiday—it was Christmas—they climbed 

that hill, a mountain, really, and discovered 

the top was crowned with monoliths. 

Boys on vacation, and strong,

they rolled great boulders down the slope
because they could— 

a game they invented and then
gave up. 


The world at their feet, the far-off glowing 
snowy crest of Sierra, its distant light. Someone 

began a hymn, a prayer right there
on top of the mountain. It was Christmas, 


after all. The rest joined in. And then 

they climbed back down, re-crossed the river, 

resumed their lives; remembered 

how the mountain held them in winter sun.






DECEMBER INVENTORY

Chainsaws and chippers gone at last
from the woods. Quiet of just-after-rain,
sun muted and low. Time for a walk
in boots and denim, parka just in case.
Green-grass haze over the field
with its sunburn residue of summer weed-
eating—foxtail, wild oat, soft chess.
On the hill, first signs of fungi pushing
through deadfall—pale-smooth as custard,
or tough-pleated plates protruding
from tears in oak bark. Old-friend oaks—
many gone now in the name of fire-safety.
The doe running from woodcutters
with their raucous machines. Will she
be back to raise another fawn in these
altar-woods, what’s left of them?






ON THE CLINIC WALL

Behind your back, a painting:
forest scene of massive oaks cloaked
in green moss, trunks opening as lighted
windows, home to creatures of the woods;
and in a nook of roots, curled as if at rest
but watchful, a fox behind your back.
Can you sense its eyes, its gaze
of patience, calm. Can you feel it?






EAVESDROP

It was dry while she was milking the cows.
A pause between downpours, a bit of conversation
at the library bazaar, old folks reminiscing
their lives—memories of dirt-shack, dust bowl,
the cow who always kicked at milking.
Authors talking about their books, the perfect
stocking-stuffer, so cozy to curl up with
by the fire.
It’s gray outside, the library inviting
with open door, parka’d browsers wandering
the stacks. A world of books. How many cows
to milk before the next storm hits?






CABIN FEVER

Sound of tires on wet
pavement—there’s still a moving
world outside the door.






THE PERFECT GIFT

A poem’s never
done. She’s crossing out phrases,
penning alternate
lines. A rough revision—new
thoughts out of old conclusions.
You could have her new
unexcised version. You like
healed scars of poem.






Today’s LittleNip:

BETWEEN THE STACKS

—Taylor Graham

After-hours the words
go wandering, searching for
new worlds to settle.

____________________

Our thanks to Taylor Graham on this last-Thursday-before-Christmas, as she celebrates her recent visit to the Georgetown Library. She writes that “South Slope Christmas" is from her latest book,
Windows of Time and Place (Cold River Press). And wandering words! So that's why I can never find them when I need them!

Join local poets in the noon read-around at Third Thursdays in the Sacramento Room of the Central Library on I Street in Sacramento; bring poems by someone other than yourself which explore/celebrate light out of darkness. Then at 7pm, check out Poetry Live at The Ooley Theater, 2007 28th St., Sacramento (feel free to bring a poem). At 8pm in Davis, Chris Erickson reads at Poetry in Davis, plus open mic, at the John Natsoulas Gallery on 1st St. And of course Poetry Unplugged meets at Luna’s Cafe & Juice Bar on 16th St. in Sacramento meets at 8pm, with featured readers and open mic. 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, celebrating how poets corral those wandering words~



—Anonymous Sketch
“…searching for new worlds to settle.”











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