It pauses for small things:
in Santa Fe, an ant
negotiates a door frame
where layers of peeled paint
take turquoise deeper.
A pueblo nearby, for its annual ritual
calls for turquoise newly mined.
Old stones can crumble if hoarded,
discolor if worn.
Their value is in their transience.
Returning from the Food Bank
What seems profligate in Nature—
fruits and nuts tossed lightly to the ground—
is an economy of sharing:
plants and creatures, browsers,
munchers in the interwoven web
all giving and receiving.
So it is, returning from the Food Bank
lighter by several pounds—
green beans, red tomatoes,
stems of rainbow chard—
I hear the conversation
of the firs that line the road.
A Semblance of Normal
Bittersweetness of blue skies
these winter days
without rain.
A young friend fights cancer
by reading stories
to his sons.
Hold your breath, tiptoe
lest the storm
clouds wake.
But what of summer:
will there be drought then
and tears?
Bionote
Maureen Eppstein has three poetry collections: Earthward (Finishing Line Press), Rogue Wave at Glass Beach (March Street Press) and Quickening (March Street Press). Her poetry has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including Aesthetica, Basalt, Calyx, Ginosko, Poecology, Sand Hill Review, and Written River, and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Originally from Aotearoa/New Zealand, she now lives on the Mendocino Coast of California. Her website is www.maureen-eppstein.com.
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