THREE CUPS, CREAM AND SUGAR

THREE CUPS, CREAM AND SUGAR

                for Gilbert Chandler

We watched Old Yakima

transform itself, and turning 80,

you become our premier elder-historian,

and I salute that, thanking you

for two cottonwood walking sticks

carved by you for Karen and I

during Covid-19 social-distancing.

We sit out back looking at the stick,

remembering river banks, walking

with old trees nobody notices.

Roman Numerals: MMXX.

Your knife. When I call and ask,

you say, Whittling on a stick.

We don't hardly have cream any more

but I smile when you say,

Cream and sugar, for coffee.

Thick cream, too, leftover from rhubarb

cobbler. Handing you the jam

we remember our mother's rhubarb

and weep openly. I hand you

Miles' Tribute to Jack Johnson

with two 25-minute songs:

Listen to the drums. 2020.

Black Lives Matter. Keep walking.

Pay attention to Yesternow.

Love, Jim

23 June 2020

WRAPPED IN DAPPLED LIGHT

WRAPPED IN DAPPLED LIGHT

for Karen

I wind you into the garden

spinning you newly sewn

into quilted color, a light show

from the back side, late

afternoon, slight breeze

dappling sun spary

on white fence, leaves 

separating shade shadows

what is patched flower

what is petalled shine?

O scissor cut shapes,

O Karen in blue sandals

glass-darked wonder-glossed

arms holding what you held

needle-tight, thread-stemmed.

Love, Jim

16 June 2020

Post Card to Gwen Ifill

POST CARD TO GWEN IFILL

% OF JUDY WOODRUFF IN THE NEWS ROOM

Good Morning Ms. Ifill from Yakima.

Out west we're all masked up. My cover

not very deep. I'm waving

your stamp all over the news room.

Judy's got color in her hair.

That took some time.

Yamiche in her shoes,

knowing yours.

This team.

William, Lisa Amna, Nick,

John, Jeffrey, David, Mark,

Amy, Tamara.

The others.

All have her back,

fighting over this one stamp.

Many thanks,

Jim Bodeen

11 June 2020

Saying Just This Much

SAYING JUST THIS MUCH

After a late night with Turkish coffee

the poet looks into rhubarb cooking

on the stove. Wasn't me. I'm shelling

peanuts out back. For all my talk

of spring oolong, I'm closer

to Dostoevsky returning from curative

waters heading towards the roulette

table. Shade grown cherries

from Central America roasted

for caffeine's bitter salvation.

If I have to choose, belief, or truth

in all its empirical data, keep me

from all hints of what's useful--any

utilitarian angel. Wedded, I am,

to a different scroll.

Jim Bodeen

15 June 2020

One Day Grandkids will need MLK jr.: How that day is today

ONE DAY IN SCHOOL, YOU’LL NEED

TO MAKE A REPORT ON DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.

—for Josh and Katie

And for Sammie and Deanna

(who weren’t born yet.)

You can start to look at this book then.

You don’t have to read it.

Just look at a few pictures.

Read a couple of captions underneath

the photos that interest you.

You can make your report from looking

at the pictures. Ask your Mom & Dad

why these words, civil rights

are so important, still. Make them

give you a good answer, too.

You don’t have to read the book. Not yet.

You can take it to school, maybe,

to show your teacher and your friends

that your grandpa got you the biggest book

ever, on Dr. King. It’s good to ask questions:

Why did Grandpa get this book for me

when I was a baby? Who is Taylor Branch

who wrote my name in the book?

One day you’ll want to know what all this

has to do with you. Pick it up, then.

Look at the photo of Mrs. Rosa Parks,

and Bob Moses, too. Check their names

in the index. See those overalls he’s wearing?

You can tell your friends that was the uniform

of civil rights workers. You need to know

about Medgar Evars, too. You’ll know

when it’s time to pick up the book

and read it on your own. Nobody

will have to tell you. Dr. King

led the marches for freedom.

Young people just like yourselves

were warriors pushing him from behind.

One day you’ll need this story.

And one day the story will need you too.

This is a big book about freedom

That’s why Grandpa got you this book.

Love, Grandpa Jim

February 25, 2006

WHO BROUGHT THE BLACK POETS IN TIME TO SAVE ME?

WAITING FOR HARLEM RENAISSANCE STAMPS

TO ARRIVE IN THE MAIL, I WRITE POST CARDS

TO THE GRANDCHILDREN CONCERNING HOPE

THAT COMES FROM THE POETS

Those pool players seven

at the Golden Shovel could make

those balls talk smack

that mattered. Stars, stripes,

solids. 8 Ball. Black and white.

Eyes on each other.

Langston hearing it all in Spanish.

Stakes were high.

I was a boy in overalls

that didn't fit.

The teacher that made me

read those poems?

I don't even know her name.

Gwendolyn Brooks wrote that poem.

Where is Mari Evans this morning?

We remember her. Brooks knew how

boys talk because

she listened to them.

Her poem saved my life.

So did that teacher

giving me the poem.

Jim

4 June 2020

Painting A Love Supreme -- Making a Space

The painter, Rex DeLoney, 

asks only one thing, 

gifting the painting: Make A Space

for A Love Supreme, for his John Coltrane:

With Robins in the June Berry Bush

TUESDAY MORNING IN THE GARDEN

       --a poem for Jim Hanlen

So many robins in the June Berry

bush this morning. I tried surrounding them

with bars of aluminum foil

to keep them from the berries.

No white space remains

for sunlight but the birds

do their damnedest to eat

their way to freedom.

Will they be able to fly?

I've been grounded by the muse.

Not something I take lightly.

When the church rebuked me

they rebuked me twice

in one Sunday.

They used the word, rebuke.

I take umbrage, I wanted

to say. Thank God

I held my tongue.

I would never put that word

in one of my poems.

Jim Bodeen

2 June 2020