| Dear friends, I am pleased to announce my new book of poetry, Fruit Box Castles: Poems From a Peach Rancher’s Daughter is available for pre-0rder from Finishing Line Press. Please support my goal of selling 55 books by August 15 so, that the book will be available for additional releases. You can order here . The book will be released at the end of October 2020. Also, join me for my first soft book launch on Zoom at Writers on the Air July 19, 4 pm hosted by Todd Boyd (Mimosa Sundays!) Open Reading to follow. (Meeting ID: 358 106 078/Password: 025674) Below find some of my favorite poems from the book. Mom midwifed rows of freestones Late July we’d sit under umbrellas of the walnut tree peeling pink ribbons of skin release pits in a curl of wrist These filled canning jars clicking and clacking in cauldrons of water pale circles of paraffin floated on bountiful mouths November we’d yank the light’s chain creep down the grouchy stairs to the basement crocheted in spider webs scatter whatever, behind steamer trunks that stored secrets: kimonos wrapped in tissue paper, waiting an occasion, the dragon tea pot, a formal table, helmets pitted by shrapnel, uniforms grown too small letters in cursive, a wedding gown— a first mistake; On one wall summer saved in jars: green beans, pickles, yellow hearts of peaches; Mom stopped canning and I could never fit into her waders use the watery screen of an I pad to recipe words,can memories picked ripe in season honest labor. Mother’s Sadness Writes a Daughter’s Poem They lean against the flatbed truck mother’s hair escapes a bandanna dad’s straw hat half cocked both in bibbed overalls arms chained, smiles bright as charms. Winter mother sews hope into gingham curtains crochets thimble sized shoes pieces together squares into pastel blankets craves pickles and honey keeps busy. Named for their father she is born still first born, sister the siblings won’t hold tumble of crimson curls on satin pillows pink as taffy. The clergy speaks lovely words for a child he didn’t know the mourners call a porcelain doll placed in a casket small as a shoe box the mother’s sadness writes the daughter’s poem. Trembling Stars quilt earthy beds where olive orchards once grew and families of crows dressed in black, still harvest the fruit from those trees that remain. Sparrows sing lullabies from the choir stalls of cedar boughs. Guardian angels hold watch spread marble wings frozen in eternal flight. Blessed with a blossoming heart with summer flowers seeded in spring in this garden of wild, native, exotic, and tame; this pitcher of morning light poured across the wooden planks Cannas’ umbrella of leaves. the walnut’s basket of nuts squirrels’ steady harvest mandalas of black-eyed Susan fringed in gold sycamores and breeze linked in song. Blessed with sparrows’ passion to sing, hummingbirds’ endurance, inquisitive jays, afternoon baptisms quiver of wings release of sorrow space that cultivates joy; feelings turned over like the trowel amends; the yin yang sadness and joy different and the same. the yin yang sadness and joy different and the same— Jennifer |