oakland

late at night the moon half lit, me
all the way, on a dirt road in the wilderness
through the canyon, nine hundred feet straight down one side
wrack and rock straight up the other, sometimes
the recollected light of Oakland looms up behind me
the headlamps go dusky on the road ahead

and i'm in the hand of god
who knows my sins and doesn't mind them
who spreads Oakland out around me
prowling helicopters, corner bodegas, the old korean
behind the counter,
blue jazz, the white bones of eucalyptus

jerry brown
down
in a spotlight
urging up lettuce, arugula,
yoruba

the whispers of the accidental dead
and their grave tenderness
come to claim me on this road
this california moonlit orange blossom buckeye
path into stars

lanterns shining upwards from the bay, the lost
the oasis-eyed san pablo avenue wanderers
i thank you for keeping me close
leap into the pale high cloister of your
Oakland arms
carry me home

§ § §

l.a. seidensticker lives in the northern California wine country, very fortunately, two miles of bad road from the pavement. You can reach her at labaldwin@attbi.com.

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