Three Poems by Aileen Cassinetto
Poetry, please*
And
when we speak
let it
be said
that
nothing is lost
in
translation.
That
our words are true
and
tenable.
That we
understand
the
meaning of “sii,”
the
Ohlone word for water,
which
is you.
The
Ohlone knew this.
They
were first of this county,
borne
of seawater and
woven
reeds to salt
marshes
and pickleweeds
and
saltwater silvered
by
smelt.
They
fared
on
abalone
and
blue elderberry
Western
chokecherry.
Periwinkle.
Oaks.
All
flourishing, grace-filled,
transitory.
If I
were a weaver,
I would
gift you
a
basket made of sandbar
willow
and tule,
bright
as cinnabar.
But I
can only write
this
poem,
a
tributary,
to
carry
the
weight of water
as it
flows and hefts
the
meaning of you.
Giver
and taker.
And
everything that I knew.
Eggshell Fragments of the Marbled
Murrelet**
It’s
like tracking a bird from sea
to tree—which sounds a little
to tree—which sounds a little
offbeat,
like hurried wingbeats.
You hear the keer, follow
the mottled brown plumage,
find the eggshell truth.
You hear the keer, follow
the mottled brown plumage,
find the eggshell truth.
There’s
an understory
to every canopy of century-
old trees. You see, every mound
and pit is a hole-and-corner
battleground. The story isn’t
about a seabird nesting
to every canopy of century-
old trees. You see, every mound
and pit is a hole-and-corner
battleground. The story isn’t
about a seabird nesting
in an
old-growth forest to lay
its one perfect egg. It’s
about you leaving quickest,
quietest, and cleanest so you
don’t leave a trail. Because
a trail could be the death of
its one perfect egg. It’s
about you leaving quickest,
quietest, and cleanest so you
don’t leave a trail. Because
a trail could be the death of
this
one bird and its one egg
in a really old forest of mounds
in a really old forest of mounds
and
pits that is really a
hole-and-corner
battleground.
Sounds
a little offbeat, but
it’s
the eggshell truth.
Examinations of Moose Chowder in
Lemon Parachutes***
seemed
so delightful
it made
us sit up, like
“Vampires
in the Lemon Grove.”
It
simply means there can be no
super
asymmetry, and we don’t
really want moose chowder.
But what does it matter as long
really want moose chowder.
But what does it matter as long
as
there’s a lemon grove, and
“quantum
vampires” is a thing.
And read correctly, this is
And read correctly, this is
a love
poem that is 42 seconds
long.
It means you, my sweetheart,
are the
doctor with two hearts,
my
Chirrut Îmwe in DS-9,
my Big
Bang buddy, and
the
universe in these lines.
Notes:
*Presented
at the San Mateo County Board of Supervisors’ Meeting, October 2018
https://sanmateocounty.legistar.com/View.ashx?M=F&ID=6689639&GUID=271FFA0E-60FB-4134-8173-6FF180DEC454
(accessed December 19, 2018).
**Rudolf
W. Becking, Northwestern Naturalist
Vol. 72, No. 2 (Autumn, 1991), pp. 74-76. https://www.jstor.org/stable/3536805
(accessed December 19, 2018).
Also:
Juliet Grable, Audubon, Fall 2018. https://www.audubon.org/magazine/fall-2018/from-sea-tree-scientists-are-tracking-marbled
(accessed December 19, 2018).
***Big Bang Theory, “The Citation
Negation,” November 2018.
Vampires in the Lemon Grove: Stories by Karen Russell (Vintage
Contemporaries, January 2014).
*****
