Skip to main content

Photosynthesis

                             


                                                                                                                    for eb


Who knew leaves could land like this. Twin silhouettes 

on wet pavement. Half a century of travel to meet again,
sisters. Water and sap through veins.


Decades of San Joaquin Valley orchards of orange

fed by concrete aqueducts. Leafless hedges like 
oversized bonsai in the hundred degree heat.

 

But then, under San Francisco Bay’s sky

eucalyptus scent so heady it’s medicinal, this arrival

on spindly fronds. Your familiar intonation.

 

Such root pressure and photosynthesis, this rush 

toward one another and countless years of 

understanding. Sun prints of snowy white on indigo paper.


A piñon sprig that hosts the edible nut 

buried in thick coffee-colored skin, cracked open.

 

Rainfall conversation. 

Geography no hindrance.


Just the mention of your name.


Comments

  1. Linda, thank you. I apologize that I’ve not seen your flattering comment until now.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Open Mic, Cafe Babar

I remember arriving, not the prettiest but appealing  to certain bards in the back room, entering through  the Castro Valley corner door, walking the postage stamp sized  Cinzano bar curated by a man from Detroit who named  his establishment after a certain French elephant in a children’s book I arrive with budding consciousness around politically correct solidarity for disheveled neighbors, entering the cigarette lit night rising to tin siding ceiling to floor thumping insistence   Bruce and Joie and David and Laura and John, their ash and sweat accumulating as I waited patiently for my place on the crumpled sign-up sheet   Today, three decades later, I sit in a Santa Fe gallery named simply Here, and a poet reads to us of roadrunners and a bear and  a continuation of the call for preservation of our environment There is an otherworldly hum outside the window of leaded glass The owner sidles up behind me and pushes the fr...

Shameless Early Promotion

My poetry book, The Fiction of Stillness, is available for pre-order now on Barnes and Noble. Official release date August 1st, 2024. Here's a taste: ... The table is smooth and round              symmetric         The chairs are haphazardly placed at the end of this day      I have breast cancer I say into the receiver   [communities must] pool resources   How to produce the sounds of the imaging                report into sentences that resonate with months of postponement weighty contrast on my right side   computing and comparing IM ratios for greater insight                          not sufficient to prove the efficacy of screening   ...

Disarmed, for T.C.

On my back on the table in this your calm room             you caress my ankles and will my body tributaries  to rise up and meridians to exhale  Your knowledge like pulling taffy with buttered             hands   Your strength redirects my body’s river  which you lift and stretch       Then you place a wafer of a small white pillow over my eyes             that I might entirely succumb     to your warm hands draping  like weighted blankets over each of my resting shoulders    With intention    drifting toward chest      measuring every              underground hillock in these my pliable appendages...