* * *
—Poetry by Ann Wehrman, Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Chris Feldman and Ann Wehrman
CALL ME BY MY NAME
shy, languorous, perhaps cruel
fall undresses slowly
as wind, hard rain
strip gold and russet leaves
from branches without remorse
trees' curves emerge
leaves pile at their feet
bright silken lingerie
fall unfolds over weeks, takes her time
finally stands beautiful, bare
before the last kiss
before her lover runs and winter tightens
trees hold onto that goodbye
stand strong throughout the year
they sing, Call me by my name
I am more than golden leaves, trefoil gown
more than arms or branches, fingers, twigs
skin or bark that peels to sweet new wood
more than blood or sap
Call me by my name
through the long winter, forgotten
they stand, broken, cracked
beaten by cold winds, longing
then at last, new life
green, warm sun and air
buds emerge, the trees sing
I am your other, I am your love—
call me by my name
shy, languorous, perhaps cruel
fall undresses slowly
as wind, hard rain
strip gold and russet leaves
from branches without remorse
trees' curves emerge
leaves pile at their feet
bright silken lingerie
fall unfolds over weeks, takes her time
finally stands beautiful, bare
before the last kiss
before her lover runs and winter tightens
trees hold onto that goodbye
stand strong throughout the year
they sing, Call me by my name
I am more than golden leaves, trefoil gown
more than arms or branches, fingers, twigs
skin or bark that peels to sweet new wood
more than blood or sap
Call me by my name
through the long winter, forgotten
they stand, broken, cracked
beaten by cold winds, longing
then at last, new life
green, warm sun and air
buds emerge, the trees sing
I am your other, I am your love—
call me by my name
My Favorite Practice Room
—Photo by Ann Wehrman
—Photo by Ann Wehrman
ARIA
I reenter my favorite practice room
tears surprise me
long hours spent here, years ago
cold plastered walls, fragrant polished piano,
worn bench
welcome me back
wooden shelf holds my purse, flute case
it’s held thousands of music students’ gear
desire pushes
like a seed sprouts through soil
presses with every breath against gut, heart,
throat
I tremble as I unpack my flute, fit joints
together
close the thick wooden door—still, I will be
heard
I lift my flute to my lips
HOMING
in May, swallows with their new babies
fly in and out of nests in the eaves
of Capistrano Hall
my heart aches for my friend
now living in her car
survived getting old, losing her mom
even beat cancer
hands reach out to help
but she doesn’t see them, can’t trust them
folds into herself
CHANGING COURSE
today imploded silently
while I slept unaware
and when I woke, stretched
I was pulled from within
away from what I had thought would be
picked up, set upon a new path
to-dos, deadlines unraveled, blew away
as I sat, breathed
later I made an omelet rich in cheese, veggies
rather than choking down dry toast
didn’t beat myself up
over playing a few wrong notes in orchestra
took photos of baby trees
poking up next to grandfather redwoods
inhaled fragrant soil soaked by heavy rain
fate gently swept me forward with love
I opened my eyes and jumped
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.
—Viktor E. Frankl
___________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Ann Wehrman and Chris Feldman for today’s fine collaboration!
For future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
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Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!