San Diego Poetry Annual 2010-11

DIONNE BLAHA Flying When a roshi sits next to you, do you reach for the brake-cord? The pull-down stairs unfold, she waits for your answer, and instead of wondering why she wants to know, you let the sand fall back into the sea. It doesn’t take much sugar to make cookies or ants happy. But you keep wondering, where is the end to the grocery lists, children to deliver, wasps to shoo away, weeds to pull from the planned cracks of your otherwise perfect sidewalk? Spiders still traipse across your attic while you sleep. Here’s a hint. Don’t cheat. The birds will fly straight. UNA NICHOLS HYNUM Q and A Are you afraid of dying, she asks, you write about it so often lately. How do I answer a granddaughter just beginning to live. I reply I’m interviewing Death, checking credentials, looking into all possibilities, curious. What does it have to offer that will lure me from this world I love and loathe. I’m not anxious to leave, but when Death asks ̶ who gives this woman I want a willing answer ̶ her mother earth and father sky, estranged as they may be. Sitting in different pews, they try to look comfortable. The river is mantled in fire, air tender. Trees scroll a calligraphy of shadows on the grass and far off the tolling of a bell. What was the question? RODLEY MONK Hearts Wandering like Li Po ̶ for YUAN YUAN 2010 I think of you on your travels with three young men who speak in German and the one you love who speaks with you in English and touches you at night I think of the mountains you see together the sea of faces the steady music of the rails like love carrying you to waterfalls to streams through the green forests of your youth and I become young again with your delight yet my heart remains old filled with the wanderings of Li Po and his pots of wine with only the moon for company in an autumn of longing it is anxious to tell you what you already know take it grasp it devour this journey every leaf every tear every kiss will never be quite the same again.