I would have called you Oma
Category Archives: Poetry
Cardboard Cemetery
I pass by them on my way down the hill to Safeway, or Peet’s names inscribed in simple block letters draped on stunted trees in the median or scrawled on cardboard “ grave” markers in a makeshift cemetery on a small rise excised by the cruel scalpel of racial injustice their hollow voices cry outContinue reading “Cardboard Cemetery”
Super Nova
she brought solace to a broken country deeply in need of healing
A Winter’s Day
Taking a walk on a stunning Northern California winter’s day a teasing, tantalizing morsel of spring the sky a flawless blue, the sun inviting and healing a day begging for short sleeves and sunglasses barren tree limbs practically stretching like purring cats basking on a window seat I pull down my mask stealing a breathContinue reading “A Winter’s Day”
Interlude in Trader Joe’s Parking Lot
A man playing a saxsits on a makeshift stoolin Trader Joe’s parking lot, scrounging for his three kidshis sad story splayedon tattered cardboard, his reedy notesa brass confessionsoulful, plaintive, squandered in this shitty parking lotwith the bouquet of urinedrifting in from dark corners. I’m pulled in by the musiclike a rogue wave,and he has noContinue reading “Interlude in Trader Joe’s Parking Lot”
The Cuervo Gold and Clorox Blues
It’s not a good sign when you’remesmerized by the Westminster dog show.Got to get out of this place.Yes, even a well-planned forayto Safeway will suffice.I know I shouldn’t go, but I can’t relinquishthis last vestige of my old life. Grocery list clutched in my gloved hand,mask in place, fogging my glasses,cart wiped down.I try toContinue reading “The Cuervo Gold and Clorox Blues”
A July Afternoon at the Wharf
It’s a day framed forever in my memory.
I remember envying the tourists,
carefree, riding the cable cars,
delighting in their crab cocktails and sourdough loaves,
Just Beyond
I try to recall
cousin Cynthia’s second husband
you know…what’s-his-name
or that actor from Breaking Bad
but names elude me
hover just beyond reach
wily fugitives
from my once impeccable memory
Mr. Avocado Man
An older man in khakis and a Giants cap sits on a bench
in late afternoon sun
outside Whole Foods on Telegraph Avenue
meticulously stacking
slices of whole wheat bread
then placing one on a napkin
The Two Week Vacation
Never ready, when the father wants to hit the road, they’re not speaking, when he pulls outinto San Francisco fog, thick as a blanket.At the toll booth, the kids skirmishover who gets to hand the man the quarter.The girl, twelve, frizzy haired, gangly and awkwardis yet to ripen and hates everything about herself.The boy, sitting shotgun,Continue reading “The Two Week Vacation”
Joanne Jagoda 