County Lines – October 10, 2009

Ann Wehrman

In Ann Wehrman’s poetry, she savors the richness of nature in simple activities – the sun glimmers through redwood trees, feet splash into puddles and break up the reflection of the moon. She paints a city life, paying bills, getting mail, walking the concrete path, but finds details in the treasures the city holds:

The trees rise, olives and hundreds more
release their bounty of oxygen, shade, texture.
Some are fuchsia or white with summer…

In more than one way, Ms. Wehrman’s work reminds me of that of Mary Oliver, whose early poems startle the reader with their attentiveness to nature, and their message – that we must be attentive to nature!

Ann Wehrman is an Adjunct English Professor at American River College, and a graduate student completing her Second BA in Music at CSU, Sacramento. She has published poetry and short fiction locally in rattlesnake review, Medusa's Kitchen, Poetry Now, and various college literary journals. A free small poetry broadside of her work can be had from Rattlesnake Press, or at the Book Collector in downtown Sacramento.

Neptune’s Lake of Love

all afternoon, I dream as I paddle
float on my back
marvel at a sky’s sweet, soft blue

hawk soars far
beyond the redwood sentinel
outside my window
sun peeks and
glimmers through flat, green needles
russet branches rough
scratchy as a lover’s chin

I swim, meander,
dive, stretch
where gravity can’t find me
plie underwater painlessly
accomplish what’s
impossible on land
with stiffening joints

middle age is sweet, though lonely—
brush of your cheek
soft lips across mine
only in mind, spirit, imagination

Sacred Spaces—Reclamation Project #4

coming home
late after work
I trudge along
the concrete path
pass my door
must still check the mail

step through white ripples
the moon’s reflection
puddles still seeping
into grass from afternoon’s rain

neighbors’ windows yellow warm
through their keyholes
the familial continuum
agony to joy

outside, I
walk past them
separate, solitary
retrieve my bills,
turn back
towards my single room

down the concrete walk
sparkling in the moonlight
embraced by city-dimmed night
still magnificent in black satin—
comets jet,
planets secure, each in its own space,
constellations sway and reel,
directed by the hand of God

Sacramento, City of Trees

Sun glistens on olive leaves,
ripe, baked;
trees stand on both sides of the street
as I ride the bus through town.

The trees rise, olives and hundreds more
release their bounty of oxygen, shade, texture.
Some are fuchsia or white with summer,
others, fall’s orange and tomato red,
though cool nights have not yet arrived.

Rich leaves crowd and clap,
stand free, press;
bushes like African royalty in an arboreal kingdom
share city dust, days thick with summer heat.

Tall trees lean together
over the Sacramento valley summer,
as afternoon waxes, flocked, glossy,
as Delta breezes blow along the American River
from the west, from the sea.

You can find more of Ann Wehrman’s work at the local poetry website
Medusa’s Kitchen:

http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2009/06/wee-bit-of-flesh.html