l. before the storm

heaviness in the udders of cows
and sheep who lie down
i could be at home
lying down, heavy
resting, waiting
for the dam to break
and wash away the old.

at the store it’s in the air
as Bernie joshes and frowns
and Dot freshens up
each grocery bag she packs
and hands out like school lunches
as i ask "Do you think the storm is coming?"
and Bernie mumbles back
from deep in stacked piles
of what i need.

i start for home and wonder
where i last saw
the cracking olive pancho
and wonder how far up its bed
the river might swell
and where i should leave the car.

Jenny gets home from school
and Redwood from town.
no rain yet. we make
the woodstove glow
and eat quietly,
do puzzles and read
til i find myself reading
the same page endlessly
and turn into bed.

we wake that night
to rattling shapes
with fingers cold as metal
searching for cracks;
and then a soft swish of timid visitors
descend to wash the roof
carefully spilling trickles
into widening pools on the floor.

2. trials by water

sometimes there are weeks
when earth becomes an alien planet
that never saw a sun
only flat cold, gray rain,
misting blankets of rain
and tempered aluminum skies.

we slosh to regular chores and meetings,
now become struggles and conquests,
as boots stick in mud,
shopping bags lose bottoms,
and the bottoms of our jeans
are always wet..

cars stick themselves in turn-arounds
at the end of dirt roads
so nearby neighbors must join
to heave the stuck beasts out
with exuberant muscles
and grins that almost wipe away
the muddy farts
that sputtering tires
have left upon their knees.

3. when Brenda canoed thru the orchard

one night the river rose over
Tom and Annie’s cabin.
they fled with their children to sleep in the barn.
and our cars had water to the windows
with silt creeping into the moving parts.
yet somehow next evening
we drove to Elk thru the eye of the storm
to counter the gods with our own dervishes
til the music faded beats into the small hours.

4. grace after storms

when i wake there are whispers of clouds
teasing hills blushing green.
an awakened earth fills me
with the sweet after breath
of her long drink.

when i go to Pt. Arena
the town is filled with cars
and bustling new washed souls.
you can feel it in the Post Office
in Gilmore’s and the "Upstairs Cafe"
everyone is greeting and smiling
on new green fields.

previous poem

next poem

exit