High summer downpour— allergies explode after COVID exposure.
Vibrant monitor— the smell of midnight rain through the dark, screened window.
Black wrist brace— white dog hairs pepper the felt palm.
As mentioned in a previous post, this summer I began the struggle with a chronic injury that would take several years to be properly identified and resolved. Many of these poems were informed by this.
~~~ Everyday the pain changes—crickets start chanting their cool August song.
Anniversary of my injury—Mom’s voice rivers through the phone.
A Tuesday morning my life’s barn door slipped quietly closed. Immediately five golden paths and I at the crossroads fretting.
Occasionally I indulge in a cigar. When I do, it often makes me think of my now-departed grandmother, who was a lifelong heavy smoker.
~~~ Taste of tobacco in the morning—grandmother, granddaughter breathing.
My broken body welcomes this rainy day—sun blasted scars burning.
Forever sitting with this injury—within the cool altar drips.
The next several poems were written during my family’s annual summer trip up to Stratford, Canada, for their excellent Shakespeare festival.
~~~ Wasps browsing the white hydrangea blossoms—well-dressed patrons flock to plays. --- The white hydrangea blossoms browsed by wasps—well-dressed patrons flock to plays.
Rental home, cozy with overgrown ornamentals— I could live here too.
Well-appointed porch— high on the corner column a bird’s empty nest.
Chair bound on the porch— the scent of mushrooms cooking wafts through the screen door.
Rain between plays—crow switches to a deeper branch in the backyard pine.
The next few poems were written during a trip out to visit my husband’s aunt and uncle where they live on the coast in Washington.
~~~ There they go— two morning fisherman, two cormorants.
leaving the inlet cormorants wet from diving morning fisherman
All summer slowly decorating itself—pine now laden with cones.
Empty dock one seagull alights a wooden piling.
Lightest, palest green— traversing hipped rose bushes the praying mantis.
A single feather bobs away from the preening female harlequin.
Wiping its long beak on dock cleats—great blue heron, dawn in the lagoon.
Voices like pebbles rubbing—hummingbirds sharing madrone tree perches.