Eileen R. Tabios
LifeLines Lies
Life cracks this
palm—such weight
on thin skin
I cup it
to hide how,
yes, I hid
as the snake
in the fruit
known as Eve’s
Wind Gusts in the Drump Era
               Napa Valley, Oct. 27, 2019
The fields of Mexican
sage sway
No, bend
No, heave
No, fragment blossoms from stems
      petals from blossoms
      children from parents
      parents from children
No, break
into flotsam and jetsam
      stripped of their typical beauty
      stripped of their typical perfume
      stripped of their typical enchantment
      stripped of their typical swa…a…ay
Hummingbirds flit in vain
to birth a new metaphor
for ever-persistent loss
as the paltry debris of desire
As the sky grays to black
      soot replacing air
the fields of Mexican
sage break—
               “salvia leucantha is prized for showy
               velvety flower spikes produced
               from late summer to first frost
               when other summer plants
               have given up hope”
Never have I seen the color purple
be so fragile
Firefighter
               my story is in
               water, as bones
               — “Waters” by William Allegrezza
My story is not in
fire, as bones
from gutted trees
as the sooty sketch
of a fallen bird’s wing
splayed atop a rock slab
as the new stone ruins
rising from the felled
once ivy-covered winery
as a memory doomed
to battling itself
to survive—
Thus, this poem is for water
shape-shifting to flesh
out what stubbornly remains:
a concrete wine barrel
its makers long-dead
but still tall, belying
the ashes it surrounds
Unsaid As Ekphrasis
When fire colors an entire mountain range
scarlet, orange, and other colors of autumn
the image becomes lovely—nay, gorgeous!
—only when transformed to oil on canvas
and only when the artist narrows the image
to three inches wide by six feet high. I asked,
“Did you thin the canvas to avoid showing
entire forests—with all its animals—on fire?”
Someone’s son smiled as he replied, “I imagined
the scene as viewed from behind prison bars.”
I didn’t want to raise the obvious question
so I asked, “Why is the painting so tall?”
He smiled again as he replied,” To make viewers’
eyes travel upward to where our Lord waits.”
This time, I asked the obvious: “If there is
a God, why does he allow horrible things to occur?”
The artist shook his head. “Bad things happen
because we are sinners. Some of us deserve jail.”
Eileen R. Tabios
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Life
Life cracks this
palm—such weight
on thin skin
I cup it
to hide how,
yes, I hid
as the snake
in the fruit
known as Eve’s
Wind Gusts in the Drump Era
               Napa Valley, Oct. 27, 2019
The fields of Mexican
sage sway
No, bend
No, heave
No, fragment blossoms from stems
      petals from blossoms
      children from parents
      parents from children
No, break
into flotsam and jetsam
      stripped of their typical beauty
      stripped of their typical perfume
      stripped of their typical enchantment
      stripped of their typical swa…a…ay
Hummingbirds flit in vain
to birth a new metaphor
for ever-persistent loss
as the paltry debris of desire
As the sky grays to black
      soot replacing air
the fields of Mexican
sage break—
               “salvia leucantha is prized for showy
               velvety flower spikes produced
               from late summer to first frost
               when other summer plants
               have given up hope”
Never have I seen the color purple
be so fragile
Note: the salvia leucantha description is from gardenia.net
https://www.gardenia.net/plant/salvia-leucantha-mexican-bush-sage
https://www.gardenia.net/plant/salvia-leucantha-mexican-bush-sage
Firefighter
               my story is in
               water, as bones
               — “Waters” by William Allegrezza
My story is not in
fire, as bones
from gutted trees
as the sooty sketch
of a fallen bird’s wing
splayed atop a rock slab
as the new stone ruins
rising from the felled
once ivy-covered winery
as a memory doomed
to battling itself
to survive—
Thus, this poem is for water
shape-shifting to flesh
out what stubbornly remains:
a concrete wine barrel
its makers long-dead
but still tall, belying
the ashes it surrounds
Unsaid As Ekphrasis
When fire colors an entire mountain range
scarlet, orange, and other colors of autumn
the image becomes lovely—nay, gorgeous!
—only when transformed to oil on canvas
and only when the artist narrows the image
to three inches wide by six feet high. I asked,
“Did you thin the canvas to avoid showing
entire forests—with all its animals—on fire?”
Someone’s son smiled as he replied, “I imagined
the scene as viewed from behind prison bars.”
I didn’t want to raise the obvious question
so I asked, “Why is the painting so tall?”
He smiled again as he replied,” To make viewers’
eyes travel upward to where our Lord waits.”
This time, I asked the obvious: “If there is
a God, why does he allow horrible things to occur?”
The artist shook his head. “Bad things happen
because we are sinners. Some of us deserve jail.”
Eileen R. Tabios