A Poem by Tess Taylor
Dawn, after the hoped-for downpour.
Droplets beaded in the sage.
On hills, ruts revert to streambed:
Thistle-blue, the sky in rivulets.
fallen leaves, bright fungal blooms—
Live oak cradles winter sun: Satsuma.
Winter clouds—swift coho salmon—
Along freeways, pans & garbage.
Fragile line between expensive & discarded.
A screen, rotating advertisement.
A camp: three tents, two bicycles.
On this road, backlit coyote:
Quick illuminated trickster god—
At home: Absentminded,
under storm. Symphonic
crash, then silence.
Everything is gleaming, gleaming.
We prime ourselves to forest atmospherics.
On the mountain now mossy live oaks
twist, softening our hills.
Druid, draoidh—some greenish
Welsh or Celtic god
lodged in a latter Spanish colony.
After rain: white steeple, green behind it.
The light might be the Philippines or Goa.
Little mission church on a green hillock.
O white sanctuary gleaming:
You trail all your bloody histories—
“February, Rain” is excerpted from Rift Zone, a poetry collection by Tess Taylor. Copyright © 2020 by Tess Taylor. Reprinted with permission of Red Hen Press.