Writing
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Fruitbox Castles: Poems from a Peach Rancher's Daughter, Finishing Line Press
"This collection of poems is illuminated with a sense of place framed with memory and all that remains. There is much to delight in the sensory: stubbled fields, perfume of pears. Hard labor is honored, planting, harvesting, “summer saved in jars.” And working in a cannery: “Hands that burn from sweet juice…where jobs were scarce as shade.” “Morning light poured across the wooden planks,” reminds one of Vermeer." Jeanine Stevens is the author of, Limberlos, a six-time Pushcart Nominee and the winner of the national poetry award from WOMR. Jennifer O’Neill Pickering, a woman with deep roots in Northern California soil hug you hard. She writes of the strength of a peach farmer and the beauty and generativity of the land. In one of her most powerful poems “The Alchemy of Grief,” she writes, “In theory we begin our journeys at birth./Travel backwards moving forward.” Take that journey with her in Fruit Box Castles. Wendy Patrice Williams, poet and educator, author of Autobiography of a Sea Creature: The Healing of Trauma of Infant Surgery, UC Health and Humanities Press, In Chaparral: Life on the Georgetown Divide, California, Cold River Press. Here are two of my poems from my book: Bountiful Mom midwifed rows of freestones Late July we’d sit under umbrellas of the walnut tree peel pink ribbons of skin release pits in a curl of wrists Peaches fill canning jars rattling in caldrons of water pale circles of paraffin float on bountiful mouths November we yank the light’s chain creep down the grouchy stairs to the basement’s crochet of spider webs scatter whatever, behind steamer trunks that store secrets: kimonos wrapped in tissue paper, awaiting an occasion, the dragon tea pot, formal tables, helmets pitted by shrapnel, uniforms grown too small letters in cursive, a wedding gown--- the first mistake. On one wall saves summer in jars: snap beans, pickles, yellow hearts of peaches; Mom stopped canning and I could never fit into her waders use the watery screen of an iPad to can words--- keep memories--picked ripe in season honest labor. A Lucky Girl She is the youngest daughter the good listener, the lucky one with straight teeth, the last born, not often given to advice. People tell her their secrets. Before Dad ran off to Mexico, with the best friend, the older sister never had much to say about life at Farmlands; the high-water bungalow, twenty-acres of tomatoes, stewing in summer’s kettle. How she skips right through his warnings Don’t go down to the river. Never speaks of the whippings, behind the barn, except to the little sister, the good listener. How it takes forever to unhook his belt, the one with the horseshoe buckle. How she braces for the sting against the planks of bubbled paint. leather to soft skin tattooed with welts as if she just stepped on a wasp’s nest, and not out of line. (Previously published in Paddock Review) |
Blooming In Winter, I Street Press, KDirect
"A lyric voice alive to the environment and as awake to the interior weathers," Sacramento Poet Laureate Emeritus Julia Connor, "Both sweet and painful pulling the reader close with a clear lyrical voice.” Sacramento Poet Laureate Emeritus, Bob Stanley This book culmination of a lifelong dream. It is a collection of my lyrical poetry celebrating the sense of place: rural and urban and important passages: birth, love, loss, exploration, maturity, and death. My poetry is both accessible and thought provoking; often humorous, it reflects an interest in nature and the nature of human relationships. I have tried to honor beginnings in rural northern California writing of the loss of habitat,and farmland --and a longing for simpler living. I invite urbanites and country cousins to connect with these poems . The book includes 10 color plates of my visual art. It can be purchased on Amazon and Barnes and Noble and elsewhere. Click on the book to "look Inside." arrow at Amazon. The first chapter are poems about trees. Some of my favorite poems are: Here are three of my poems from my book: Sock Relations Your grandpa wore white cotton socks summers, grey woolens winters. Your grandma balled his socks darned holes Thompson toes poked through. They stayed mated. Your ma married a man wore white cottons and grey woolens. The marriage endured. You married a man wore Orlon, knotted his socks--kept a spare drawer with lost mates. The marriage was a mismatch. Your new man’s got himself a darin’ egg and doesn’t ask you to mend what his livin’ wears out. Conversations I asked the sky if it defined the boundary of the barn. Sky replied,” Trust what is seen, answer all else with faith.” The barn said, “I sit on the earth, a shelter made from the limbs of a sister oak, older than I and who once held up the sky.” The spirit of the sister oak said to the barn, “The sky was never a burden even resting on my shoulders.” Her son called the passing squirrel, “I welcome you across my threshold as friends do pilgrims, mothers their children.” The squirrel thanked Father Lightning for opening a door. A hawk flying by called down, “If you agree there are no differences between endings and beginnings, no boundary will define you.” Then the wind came up, whispering, “In each breath reside all answers.” (previously published in Restore and Restory) The Apron Her mother’s gift years fray the lace pretty faded floral print, clouds of bleach stains; strings tied with a flourish into pink bows around the waist she’s battled for years. shielding favorite jeans, t shirts, going-out-kicking-up-her-heals-skirts, holiday vests, what it could not: the wound over her heart, a first husband the cemetery keeps, sons to the Iraq War, a daughter married too soon, one given to drink. The apron holds what the day offers: lost toys, zinnias red heads, tears, stray kittens, a finch’s repose cell phones, winter greens, toddlers sticky fingers, what’s left behind-- What’s discovered. “ |
I am grateful for these fine publications and institutions that support my writing of poetry, prose, and memoir (partial list).
Dime Show Review v.2 issue 3 (fiction)
Raven's Perch (creative nonfiction)
Sacramento Metropolitan Art Commission (poetry)
Sacramento Poetry Center (poetry)
Writer's On the Air (podcasts fiction)
The Dog With the Old Soul (creative nonfiction)
The Voices Project (poetry)
Open Circle (sculpture including my poetry) Sacramento, CA
Goddess Utility Box (visual art and poetry) Sacramento, CA
Dime Show Review v.2 issue 3 (fiction)
Raven's Perch (creative nonfiction)
Sacramento Metropolitan Art Commission (poetry)
Sacramento Poetry Center (poetry)
Writer's On the Air (podcasts fiction)
The Dog With the Old Soul (creative nonfiction)
The Voices Project (poetry)
Open Circle (sculpture including my poetry) Sacramento, CA
Goddess Utility Box (visual art and poetry) Sacramento, CA
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