Saturday, March 30, 2024

The power is not out


 

The power is not out

You made it. Hell of a drive.
Now in the cabin you’re shivery, raw.
Floorboards tremble.
Branches pelt the roof.
Rain blows under the door.
Phone? Lamp? Radio?
All wires, dead.

You fetch wood,
build a fire, heat water,
light lanterns named Aladdin.
Play guitar, help the neighbor start her car.
Clinging to this mountain
your cabin is a spot of warm
in a dark storm.
You are power.

…..

From my book Random Saints
First published in Califragile
Photo by Simon Goetz
Note: I wrote this long ago — the Aladdin lamps date it. My lamps today are battery-operated. But we still have storms, lose electricity, trees still fall here in La Honda. Neighbors still help neighbors. Humane power.

at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Hi folks

 For a few years now I've been posting my poetry on Facebook (and made many friends in the process). Now I want to be more widely availa...

  • A feral calico cat
      A feral calico cat used to sleep in my truck like a ghost leaving the driver’s seat warm but gone when I’d arrive. Heard me, sharp ears. S...
  • Wet Nurse
      Wet Nurse Harold asks for a résumé. Akna bares her left breast. The nipple is bulbous, erect. No, Harold explains, where have you worked b...
  • Autobiography of Kisses
      Autobiography of Kisses With guitar and proper hair how innocent we were (lips of warm bread) a lifetime ago (tongue of butter) just kissi...
  • The Diplomat's Daughter
      The Diplomat's Daughter The diplomat’s daughter can recite the 23rd Psalm in Hindi, once drank Coca Cola with Martin Luther King, is 1...
  • Boy, Almost Six
      Boy, Almost Six You are five or as you say, almost   six. You have a toolbox     like me. You read books in bed     like me. You even make...
  • Rough Cut
      Rough Cut Let us praise beauty imperfect. Tough lumber, stubborn resisting the blade. Fallen trees, local, plus driftwood of the northern ...
  • Memory of Moss
      Memory of Moss Through dense forest she guides me to a wall of stones piled waist-high, boulders lifted by black hands in a land of white...
  • The Museum of Transport
      The Museum of Transport Where is the red canoe?     —Lashed to the roof of the van. And the van?     —Overheats. Stalls in Sacramento,    ...
  • Miss Blue
      Miss Blue The blue plank like a body at the beach, half-buried in sand. A woman’s body. Her color is a noon-day shade of blue, gift of the...
  • The pilot cuts power to the engines
      The pilot cuts power to the engines as we’re crossing the snowy Sierra and the plane drifts lower across the fertile valley of rivers to t...