November Rain

I haven’t written much poetry this month.  Novembers are reactionary for me, times for  assessing what has happened in national elections, and what citizens need to do next to  remain engaged, and hold those elected accountable.  In Washington, and in many other states, the state legislative session is coming up in January.  I’ve just finished a proposal about Ranked Choice Voting and sent it out to state legislators for consideration.

November is also a time for gratitude, but sometimes tinged with sadness.  As we consider that for which we are thankful, we often think of family, but that also brings guilt, misgivings, loneliness to the surface. And here in the Pacific NorthWet, that is accompanied by almost daily daylong rain.  In other words, it creates a perfect storm for imagining poetry, but bad conditions for actually creating it.  Born of the impetus of  remembering to post after 3 weeks, here is something new.

Treasure Wreath

There is a wreath

upon the door

wrought of hop vines

wound in a circle

a harvest within its tangles.

Upon it

are treasures gathered

by my then-young children:

locust pods, pine cones

acorns and ash berries.

The wreath was born

in the autumn

of my first year

living a plane ticket’s

distance from them.

Each item carefully set

its circumstances

lovingly recalled

distance rued

absence aching.

Each year I visit them,

I gather ash berries

from their front yard

and embellish the wreath

with new memories.