Jennifer Elise Foerster will be a guest speaker at our class this Thursday April 29 . Here is an excerpt from Magdalena's Fire, titled California
California
I have been to the crater.
There were miles of chrysanthemums.
Palm trees swayed to the hum of the gas pumps.
Poppies lit up the hills and were eating the oak.
I gathered the acorns, dreamed in the ashes.
The white flock lifted from the chaparral
like a tattered wedding dress.
Planets were wheeling in the fault lines.
Pearls gathered at the coastline.
I was traveling the shore in a wooden boat
re-stringing the continent’s necklace.
Dragging a rack of whale ribs,
I carried the relics in my mouth,
met a woman named California,
could not pull her voice out.
I went to the arcade of angels,
offered my bucket of shells –
in exchange I was given a map of hell.
I hopped its dark barges,
dreamed beneath the fireworks.
There was a carousal on the beach and I
galloped the black stallion, offered my map
to the roller-skating cashier. In exchange
she gave me a pterodactyl’s tear.
I strung it on a thread,
wore it around my neck,
then rode the Daly City train
where I sat beside a geologist.
He gave me directions
to the sleeping volcano.
The clouds were oysters, opening
and closing. I trapped the blue pearl
and offered it to a fisherman.
In exchange he gave me
a dragon-scale kite.
I dozed beneath its shadow,
drank horchata at the cantina,
tangoed with a sailor
beneath the bone dry moon
then rented a motel room
between two highways. From there,
I could see the hills burn, the sky
shatter. I pushed a rickshaw of fossils
through deepening mud. My dreams
were the treasures of a sinking boat
as I awoke to the black horse
gnawing hot gravel, the maps
burnt to ashes in my mouth.