Wind, Sand, Kisses

Wind

The blackbird hops across
the spring grass.
In his mad eyes all that is not food seems vile

The branch of an un-watered
cherry tree has one struggling green leaf
and rustles in the spring breeze
like the bones of an ancient man.

She walks her dogs
on aching, arthritic feet,
Toes painted red
ever since she was a girl.
"My husband used to do this thing,"
she says,
"the dogs still miss him"
The old terrier growls and protects her
as best he can.

Sand

There is sand lying in the banks of the Kern River
That was ground from sandstone mountains
Long extinct

Sand that once silted over the bodies
Of sharks with jaws 4 feet in diameter
that fed on seals the size of horses.

This sand knew spring-time floods,
cold flowing water,
and the songs of children gathering
Tule reeds to make baskets that carried water
used to leach the poison
from fresh ground acorns.

But now a pesky, windy wind
hovers over it and draws it into a dance
that can been seen as a dust devil.
This dance is dance
that means there is no needed rain.


Kisses

Today is good.
No groaning as I do yoga.
No scabs on the leg,
which a blood clot turned into
a 20 pound chub of Safeway hamburger.

No cracking of shoulder bones
bound by the cement of arthritis.
No spasms in fingers
where the MS first appeared.

Stretching done,
I lie on the floor attempting meditation.
My dog slowly kisses these wounded parts
of my body as if she can smell the sickness.

As if she knows that kisses can not cure
but that love makes their pain a little less.
Would that I could be so certain.

Capitano Tedeschi

30

copyright 2009 Jamie Jacks