Mimosa Sunday-July 19th, 2020-Jennifer O’Neill Pickering Reading

Jennifer O’Neil Pickering July 19th, 2020
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—


This article was written by todd

BIO: Current self-published author/writer. Blogger, Open Mic Host, Former social studies teacher, social worker, and railroad worker who is no longer in the wage and salary industrial complex so feels free to improvise. www.writersontheair.com

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