La Bicyclette
Behind a window
fogged from breathing and wet coats
two cups in lamplight.
Chairs sitting empty
entrees long ago taken
cups remain untouched.
Spent Bordeaux bottle
used wine and water glasses
pushed against the wall.
Red espresso cups
ordered as an afterthought
stand center table.
The cups were wanted
extending conversation
kept date-night going.
Deep sensual red
seductive rims nearly touch
suspended passion.
What words were absorbed
into crimson ceramic
from sipping lovers?
Spoken new love, lust,
or amicable divorce
intimate, not friends.
Elusive purpose
disappeared out the front door
leaving cups behind.
Pajaro
After the March rains flooded the Pajaro River
families gathered on the Carpenteria Road bridge
staring down at submerged dormant orchards.
Chaos sparked excitement amongst children
huddled in orange, yellow, and pink raincoats,
danger penetrated their sheltered world.
Their docile stream, long taken for granted
now roared in brown and white capped rage,
spectators shout to be heard above the fury.
Flowing under the concrete, it was transformed
running free, no longer confined by banks
reclaiming its youth as a once great river.
The adults knew of the destruction downstream,
that soon this water would be in a child’s bedroom,
ending routine life south of the levy for months.
Memories of Johnstown and San Francisquito
and the terrible impact on those disrupted
drew forth prayers that it mightn’t be that bad.
Safe from the flood, they considered the victims
sifting through what remained after the storm
unsure of how or where they can start again.
This morning they saw nature awakened
and shivered in realization of their true stature
before returning home, holding children close.
Matt Duffy is a teacher in Pajaro Valley
Behind a window
fogged from breathing and wet coats
two cups in lamplight.
Chairs sitting empty
entrees long ago taken
cups remain untouched.
Spent Bordeaux bottle
used wine and water glasses
pushed against the wall.
Red espresso cups
ordered as an afterthought
stand center table.
The cups were wanted
extending conversation
kept date-night going.
Deep sensual red
seductive rims nearly touch
suspended passion.
What words were absorbed
into crimson ceramic
from sipping lovers?
Spoken new love, lust,
or amicable divorce
intimate, not friends.
Elusive purpose
disappeared out the front door
leaving cups behind.
Pajaro
After the March rains flooded the Pajaro River
families gathered on the Carpenteria Road bridge
staring down at submerged dormant orchards.
Chaos sparked excitement amongst children
huddled in orange, yellow, and pink raincoats,
danger penetrated their sheltered world.
Their docile stream, long taken for granted
now roared in brown and white capped rage,
spectators shout to be heard above the fury.
Flowing under the concrete, it was transformed
running free, no longer confined by banks
reclaiming its youth as a once great river.
The adults knew of the destruction downstream,
that soon this water would be in a child’s bedroom,
ending routine life south of the levy for months.
Memories of Johnstown and San Francisquito
and the terrible impact on those disrupted
drew forth prayers that it mightn’t be that bad.
Safe from the flood, they considered the victims
sifting through what remained after the storm
unsure of how or where they can start again.
This morning they saw nature awakened
and shivered in realization of their true stature
before returning home, holding children close.
Matt Duffy is a teacher in Pajaro Valley
