black bean and sweet potato enchiladas

warm tortillas supple for rolling
a spoonful of black beans
on sweet potato spread surface
cheese and salsa, roll them up
repeat

snuggle them into a baking dish
more salsa, more cheese and
into the oven

a recipe born of favorite flavors
a highlight at return visits home

out of the oven on to the plate
rice and guacamole
a beer or margarita

mmm there so good
how come I never fix
this except when you’re home

toward justice

the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.

many steps leaving Egypt
no time for bread to rise

forty acres and a mule reflected
promises with short memories

leaving in jeeps of allies
after months in death camps

an American exodus boarding trains from Dixie
to shape the urban north

the arc of the moral universe is long

land of opportunities

manufactured landscapes
climate shocks
we can bend the world to our will
exposing the vulnerabilities in systems we’ve engineered
climate adaptation
geographic diversity

manufactured systems
engineered landscapes
hotter temperatures, drier conditions
Friday Day 33 fire still raging
policy decisions altered those forests
agricultural powerhouse
race to the bottom
not a sustainable response

vulnerable to climate
I believe in California
eroding the idea the state can mold itself into whatever it wants

California was the land of opportunities but it’s just not true

freckles

brown sugar sprinkled on my skin
lighter ‘n darker spots
large some smaller

spread across the bridge of my nose
arms and shoulders
hands and legs

come from my mama
shared with my daughters

faint in the winter
brightened by the summer sun

add warmth to pale skin
and a dimension of memory

a distinction of my skin tone
a highlight against a pale shade

brown sugar sprinkled on my skin

Moving Mother

An accumulation of moments – phone calls, encounters

My cousin Marsha called when my mother’s fire alarm went off.
A pot left on the stove til its contents were burnt.

Harriet came over to help her when she couldn’t place her book order with Amazon.

At Thanksgiving I met my mother escorted by a stranger. Your mother
wondered if you’d be here to meet me. “Jamie, were you expecting me?”
“Of course, you come every year.” Seems her memory was being left behind.

After a few, what are you going to dos, I began looking at places
for Mom. In Spring we visited a retirement community.
She liked the community; she enjoyed the attention. I made some choices. My brothers met with her accountant making sure it was right.

The summer of the move. Lists and plans. A visit scheduled; my
brothers and I converged to pack and sift through a lifetime of possessions.
Decision made; execution time. Shoes sorted and shared. Furniture met
consignment. Hours and objects hinge on one thing happening before the next.

An imperfect moving day – longer than expected, my mother left with my
brother, the dog could not fly on a day when temperatures reached 80
before . . . Arrival in Austin, Mom, then me, then Stanley.
Somehow I don’t remember how long before the furniture arrived.

She moved.