Attempting a poem a week. Maybe some other musings. Always a work in progress. Satisfaction not guaranteed.

Poems from the Sierra

Getting Here

I gave myself seven hours
for the four hour drive
and arrived late for dinner.

Mountain Alder

Thirsty and wild, 
the mountain alder 
sinks
roots
in the creekbed
splays slender limbs
    upwards, outwards
in alternating turns
  up to its leaves,
unfurling knife-edged,
sprouting green catkins
in the forks between

Salt Pond

What gives me hope?
The sound of children
splashing in a pond
singing the same rhymes 
I learned at summer camp
and came home astonished to find
my parents knew them too.

Palm Desert