Sixteenth Summer
Sixteenth summer
Hair petaled high
Long cigarette holder
Daring black dress
My Holly Golightly
His Paul Varjak
My Audrey Hepburn
His George Peppard
Cruising Hollywood Boulevard
Convertible
White Ford hardtop
Top down
Warm summer breeze
Love
Memory’s moment
Love
Warm summer breeze
Top down
White Ford hardtop
Convertible
Cruising Hollywood Boulevard
His George Peppard
My Audrey Hepburn
His Paul Varjak
My Holly Golightly
Daring black dress
Long cigarette holder
Hair petaled high
Sixteenth summer
How Could I Know?
Naïve and trusting child,
how could I know
when I took that bus to Mississippi
my mission to fight injustice
would not still my country’s hate?
How could I know
those charged to serve and protect
would be fed on fear
incited to shoot others
based on the color of their skin?
How could I fall asleep?
Pretend the world was different now?
Arrogant do-gooder
convinced my brief battle for justice
would somehow change the world
Smug and insulated
frozen in privilege
only aware of what our moneyed masters
allowed me to see
I lived in a middle class dream
not knowing my own complicity
my subservience to affluent power
Then an old white man spoke up
challenged the masters who
made war for profit,
exploited the earth for their greed,
pitted the poor against one another,
used difference to divide
The millennials heard him, too
penetrated the corporate walls with their technology
posted videos of violence, dared to acknowledge
truth concealed by politicians and their owners
rallied to destroy the deceivers
were defeated by deceit
When I was a naïve and trusting child
how could I know that in my maturity
my mission would be to fight the same battle,
back a new generation’s bid for justice
beseech them to stay awake?
Today the Pomegranates Split
Today the pomegranates split
Not all of them
but the first to offer sweet wine pearls
their taste deepened by dirt from my hand
Today the apples lay red beneath the tree
Not all of them
but a few still firm to my fingers, crunched
and filled my mouth with memories
Did the wind blow last night?
When did the peaches on the tiny tree
decide to fall?
They held tight just yesterday
when I chanced a gentle pinch
Now, warm fruit against my lips
the peaches, too, fill me with longing
for the gentle sun that soon will leave
and the autumn that has already arrived
Perspective
Today while I fretted about:
finishing the book
writing the poem
cleaning the refrigerator
feeding the dog
rehoming the books
getting to the meeting on time…
Someone:
died at a concert
starved after a hurricane
learned she had cancer
became a slave
contracted HepA
lost their child
said good-bye for the last time…
Then I fed the dog.
Once More
Now I understand youth’s rawness
love’s wild joy that made sun’s slanted gold
too bright to bear
rejection, a ragged cut with serrated knife
loss, a frozen tundra, wasteland of despair
Too soon thick scars smother intensity
the foot plods through sodden sand
weighted by life’s sediment
to hear only faint echoes
of heart’s beating drum
In dusk I take knife to branch
pare down to tender core
unbearable beauty, sharp pain
reckless release from life’s incrustations
to feel youth’s gold,
and the serrated edge once more
Between Clouds and Water
Between clouds and water
an egret
freedom, grace and beauty
to my grateful eye
evil death and murder
to darting silver fry
Between clouds and water
an egret
sustenance and growth
for predators who wait
soars home again at sunset
to joyful chicks and mate
Spring water, stainless steel cup
silver spoon, Cherry Garcia
turned over on the tongue
tender tea, nanbu tetsubin
steaming sencha
brief consolation
October 2, 2017
Today I hang on electrons
try to remember which former students practice medicine in Vegas
which friends may have mentioned a holiday, tickets to a concert
Today it is hard not to hate
those who put profits before lives
those who owe powerful positions to manufacturers of machines of death
those who feed fear
Today I cry for islands in ruins
destroyed by greed
even before the winds arrived
Today I cry for joy cut short
Today, once more, the music died
How did I get here?
How did I get here
crone on a phone
cursing the spell check
and feeling alone?
How did I get here
just me and the dog
brain that was sharp
now in a fog?
How did I get here?
I don’t know why
To be the one left
all the others must die
How did I get here?
I gave up the fight
I found a blank page
and started to write
So much depends upon
an egg-centered waffle,
glazed with maple syrup,
beside my mellow mocha.
The Poetry and Prose of Barbara Huntington 