This was one of the poetry selections by the American Academy of Poets for Mother’s Day–it seems to me a sort of love poem from a mother to a teenage child. I like its strange title.
Hours Days Years Unmoor Their Orbits
tonight I’m cleaning baby portobellos
for you, my young activist
wiping the dirty tops with a damp cloth
as carefully as I used to rinse raspberries
for you to adorn your fingertips
before eating each blood-red prize
these days you rarely look me in the eye
& your long shagged hair hides your smile Continue reading
The last group of baby chicks is now starting to lay the lovely pullet eggs, small and beautiful. We cracked one yesterday, and the small egg had two small yolks. I’ve had big eggs with two yolks before, but never a small one.
And the garden!
3Poetry month just ended, and the Berkeley Library printed some wonderful poems by local poets. When soliciting work, they sent out a sample of last year’s choices and I liked this one by Ed Hirsch:
We walked on the bridge over the Chicago River
for what turned out to be the last time,
and I ate cotton candy, that sugary air,
that sweet blue light sun out of nothingness. Continue reading
Thanks to a workshop with David St. John, I heard about a poet who is currently his student at USC. Essy Stone’s book, What It Done to Us, is a group of gripping, tough poems that seem to be written by someone who came up hard and made something of it.
Here’s a sample. Reading it, I wondered if the title came from the Tracy Chapman song, but perhaps not.
At 15, you are skinny & never loved enough,
with the loss of it burning you up & pounding
between your ribs like your daddy’s heavy footsteps
as he comes up on your door. You bite holes
in the sleeves of a hand-me-down homeschooler’s sweatshirt
to sate this hunger, but it don’t fill you,
a little outsider in a brown land—brown without end,
full of brown horses & cattle & trees, the houses wooden
& their tin roofs rusted the same orange-brown
as the clay & the sunburnt skin of the people who live here,
while you try, oh, desperately, to coax something green
into being, to make a thing as green & new as yourself,
or if not green, if not alive, then shiny & mechanical
& humming along fast like your mama’s Singer, Continue reading
Though I haven’t read much of her, what I’ve seen, I like. This from Academy of American Poets Poem-a-Day series:
It’s not that the old are wise
But that we thirst for the wisdom
we had at twenty
when we understood everything
when our brains bubbled
with tingling insights
percolating up from
our brilliant genitals
A friend asked that I post more recipes, and this morning I made one of my basic breakfast variations–so delicious.
You may not be able to go out and pick greens from your garden, but any greens will do. In my case I picked baby broccolini and my only two asparagus stalks, sautéed onions and garlic, added herbs, and fried an egg on top with a little cheddar cheese. For crunch I used a little leftover brown rice. To get the egg to set before the vegetables burn, I just cover the pan for a minute or two. Continue reading
I’m still reading Bullets into Bells, the anthology about gun violence. It’s a remarkable collection. On Saturday we had a local town hall to follow up on the students’ march against gun violence. I realized we think about it almost entirely in terms of the mass events–but every gun death creates a circle of trauma, as this poem explores.
How My Mother Died
My father shook the gun to get the bullet out.
He was a careless man, but only once.
I shouldn’t linger on this, the road rising out of itself,
my father out on Pine Street in the dark,
down on all fours trying to open up his face
with gravel, trying to get down to the tar
of what went wrong by making blood again.
They find him there in a dream of twigs Continue reading
This morning I made fried potatoes for breakfast. The potatoes had been in the ground the day before, and I used hand- rendered beef tallow mixed with a little bacon grease for the cooking fat. I cooked the onions and garlic separately.
It’s like Christmas morning when new chicks arrive. I ordered a new breed, called Cukoo Bluebars, in February, and Tuesday morning, five baby chicks arrived, shipped USPS overnight from Ohio.
I had a brooder all ready for them, and they’ll spend the first two weeks inside before moving to the outdoor brooder. Continue reading