[no title]

Dear Readers,
I have never written poetry before...that is, before tonight. I was hit with a moment of brilliance while I was at work tonight: I wanted to write a poem. Why? Well, my main motivation was to get it published of course! At Westmont there is an organization called "The Phoenix" that celebrates the fine arts by publishing/recording original works in the Westmont community. I thought it would be a great opportunity to see if I could get something published, so I wrote this poem for the event. Now, here is where you, my dearest readers, come into that equation: I want your feedback! So, either email me or comment on this blog how you liked the poem and if there is anything I should fix. Please keep in mind that it is due Jan. 30 (3 days away), so hurry with the feedback/suggestions/comments. PS, I also need a title.....


Fall reminds me of my home,
dead dry cracked skeletons hanging
lifeless from tree branches,
as if a sponge has gone and soaked
up all the moisture in the air.

Where I come from is hot and dry,
Barren hills of fruitless wheat
meet the eye in pure cascades.
They call it golden summer grass,
But I know better than that.

I would always wonder on
the winding roads and turns,
dodging trucks to Sacramento,
how long it takes to climb
those dehydrated hills of windblown weeds.

It didn’t seem so steep at first,
the peak barely scraping the sky.
I was confident then, my dad
more cautious of the climb.
Fractured land, taut and red,

Crumbled beneath my eager feet,
broken by gray bones, the stepping stones.
I reached the top in no time
at all, the earth below a sea
of gold. The hill swelled in

Seconds, piercing the cerulean sky.
“One foot in front of the other”
my dad would mutter: determination
made it to the top. Thorns and briars,
ticks and sticks all came home with us

That night, a membrane of memories...... (see below!)
that can’t be scrap-booked. Fall remains
in me. Dry weeds and atrophied
earth stay at home, waiting for my
return.

......(alternative ending) That night. The membrane of memories
converges and in an instance,
the golden sea swallows me whole.
Fall reminds me of my home,
the brittle leaves crackling under
my feet.