She was an old woman spending summers bent over: planting, weeding, harvesting.
I watched from my window as she used her cane to search for beans and cucumbers.
Now I am the old woman, bent over, sowing seeds saved by her.
I harvest a bit of her with each picking.
Candace Kubinec wrote this story.
I am middle aged when you mention
that as a child at Christmastime
you were chased around your neighborhood
by big blond boys shouting
I’ve known you all my life,
yet you are distant land,
and few years remain for me to touch that soil.
Jennifer usually writes poetry, occasionally writes short fiction. See more at her website.
They converge in NorCal every August, scruffy in their outdoor encampments, recharging devices between candy and coffee shops, each waiting for texted directions from secretive connections. They share granola, vague tips, and legends, sizing each other up, moving under the radar, keeping journals to document how the West was lost.
Lee DeAmali resides in the Los Angeles area.