Drought as Desire, and: Release, and: Peach Jam

Drought as Desire

My daughter got ill the yearthey tore out eucalyptus

along the 101, rootssuspended in air, no more

orange groves to protectin a land of mini-malls

I stumbled along my own blockadesbelieving friends would come

with food in baskets thinkingthere were barriers against blackness

when seasons stopped I accepteddrought as though it were life

breathed the scorch of it(no dinners left by the back door)

while rumors whirledthat some were healed by water

we had no water we learnedto harvest in thirst

Release

My mother laboring, whisperingYour hands look old! End of summer,

jasmine in the air. Smell of season’s end.My gardener’s hands have deepened

in dark splotches, gnarled from digging,yielding to bright land.

My daughter walking as woman, wide hips,slender neck, the turn in her shoulders,

pain’s chronicity confining her frame,bars of bones that burn.

My mother dying, saying Thisis harder for you than for me.

My head on her lap. My daughter’s handon mine. Sometimes morning is hard.

My daughter says she struggles to get going,but once she is up, she can make it.

Peach Jam

We use our fingers to slide skinof late summer peaches, separateflesh from pit. Our hands glistenwith juice when we stir the jam.

Afterward we rest on the hammock,watching sky. We don’t talk aboutthe give-away boxes in the garageor the ticket my daughter has bought.

Our lopsided position disturbsour cocoon, which shivers and tilts.So we adjust, move musclesto realign our bodies.

Sometimes I can’t feelmy arms or legs, as thoughmy mind, with its hollowsof thought, isolates.

Today, my child restingagainst me, I think of a treewithout fruit, how emptinessallows branches to move.

She drapes a leg over the side,pushes of against the groundand we swing, shin to shin,sky above, just rocking.