Mendocino, California
By Frederick Livingston
after how many years
does “drought” erode
into expected weather?
and then what name
when the rains do come
startling the hard earth
the exhausted aquifers?
we’ll sing to the deep wells
the quieted fire and clean sky
“winter” brittle in our mouths
holding vigil for rivers elders
insects lovers lost forever
when did grieving season begin?
what one word could walk
between delight of sun
hungry skin and unease
in receiving unseasonable gifts?
what of the breath we held
together as cold certainty melts
wondering who burns this turn?
when the broken record
record breaking
dips into new pallets
for our purple summers
the wheel becomes
rows of teeth clenched
against steady instability
in which season do we open
our jaws lungs ears hearts
speak our fears
how it feels to be alive
on Earth still
blooming and unraveling
naming petals
as the wind claims them
Frederick Livingston plants seeds. Grounded in experiential education and sustainable agriculture, he hopes to grow understanding, peace, mangos and avocados. His upcoming poetry collection, The Moon and Other Fruits, is expected in early 2023 from Legacy Book Press.
Photo credit: “Drought,” by Wayne S. Grazio via a Creative Commons license
Photographer’s note: A honeybee, desperate and disoriented, seeks moisture and pollen from dried up sage blossoms. Another sign of climate change.
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