Journey

 

CA Desert by Air

—Poetry by Ann Wehrman, Sacramento, CA

—Photos by Chris Feldman

ICARUS

flawed human that he was, in his fatal pride
he surely felt the cold, clear joy
of flying far above the world
faster than he could run on the ground
airborne, wings propelling him faster
his flight becoming sheer, clean glide
of his will, his mind
for those precious moments
before his wings melted
and he plummeted

today, thousands of years later
on a 737 jet, high above the clouds
sun’s glare shouts brightly off steel wings
sloping just outside my tiny portal window
below us, Sierras poke through clouds
lakes reflect calm
peerless snowmelt in mountaintop crevices, holds

paradoxically, speeding faster and faster
belted into my seat
I feel like I’m hanging motionless
frozen in flight
crystal will irresolute
mind and soul flying
between, through pure lakes and peaks
racing, raging
in pure joy 

 

 

 

Unfriendly Skies

 

 

 

JOURNEY

too poor to retire, take an August flight for work
oppressive heat, bad air
drag bags through labyrinthine parking lot
ride internal light rail, terminal A to terminal B

waiting area packed—hot, tired, cross
people sprawling, snacking
choking behind masks
sun glaring through tall glass windows

finally in the air over high mountain lakes
tremendous speed, yet plane seems to stand still
briefly close my eyes, then arrival
bumping, skidding, too-heavy bags, clunky laptop

shades of a different trip, from this world to the next
hard to leave, possibly frightening
whispered prayer for a safe journey
relief, joy upon arrival 

 

 

 

Terminal Motion

 

THE DEATH CARD SIGNIFIES REBIRTH

like a bucking horse
the world gallops, careless that I
cling to its mane, slipping

ship rolling in a cosmic storm
waves shift the hull
hard to one side, the other

people, tools, boxes
slide off the deck
passengers scream

time of change, revolution—
to quote learned astrologers—
it makes sense, cold comfort

floor tilts toward the edge
cold, green-black sea 

 

 

 

As the World Falls Down

 

THREE DAYS UNTIL EVICTION
(After the Moratorium Ended)

wheeling my laundry cart down the path
I overhear the couple fighting
lashing out, words like knives
who’s to blame, who started it
neither knows, their anxiety explodes
yet it’s not about his drinking or coming home late
or about the dinner she burned
or that she didn’t feel like having sex

3:00 AM, through another window
light still burns
her kids finally sleep
a mother combs the Internet
> Craigslist
> Apartments: inexpensive
> Shared places: rooms
> Shelters
prohibitively expensive
or full, with waiting lists
one more day until eviction

day three: the trash bin rings
fills with mattresses, old lamps
sacks of belongings that won’t fit
in cars that must now house
families, couples, singles
tomorrow, those who have a car
will drive away, find a place to park
lie low, hope to stay for awhile
some will wake up early
return apartment keys
board a city bus for the mall to sit and ponder
others will just start walking 

 

 

 

On the Street

 

______________________ 

 

 

Today’s LittleNip:

Let us keep the dance of rain our fathers kept and tread our dreams beneath the jungle sky.

—Arna Bontemps

___________________

•••Tonight (11/4), 7-9pm: Poetry in Davis presents Miles Miniaci plus open mic, John Natsoulas Gallery, 521 1st St., Davis. Host: Frank Graham.

 

___________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Ann Wehrman and Chris Feldman for another wonderful collaboration!

 

 

 

—Cartoon Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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