Live Encounters Poetry & Writing September 2024
Irritant, poems Carolyn Jabs.
Irritant
I’m told oysters make pearls
to neutralize a dangerous intrusion.
How do they recognize risk?
What triggers the cocktail
that becomes mother-of-pearl?
Does it take concentration
to transform irritation
into something shimmering,
iridescent, transcendent?
I wonder if the process is painful.
depletes energies needed elsewhere.
Maybe pearl formation is
simply a by-product
of everyday housekeeping.
Does the oyster feel it has
fulfilled or been distracted
from its destiny?
Most of all, I want to know
if the oyster takes pride
in its pearl, forgets the intruder,
finds unanticipated pleasure
in the loveliness of her defense
without quite remembering
why it is there.
Puzzled
It began as an amusement,
a way to pass the time on evenings
when the sun sets long before
self-respecting adults go to bed.
When the border clicked into place,
we realized the pieces came
in only two shapes. What seemed so simple—
an autumn day in Central Park–
became chaotic:
fallen leaves everywhere,
people distinguished by nothing more
than the shape of a hat, the color of a coat.
In the welter of detail, we could not recognize
the critical piece connecting the tree’s trunk
with the branch suspended above it,
the arm that linked a mother with her child.
Day after day, we struggled to find
the big picture until, one afternoon,
it found us. The last pieces knew
where they belonged. Everything
felt inevitable, as if it had been
determined from the very beginning.
Pivot Point
Out of our hands,
it could go either way.
Tomorrow’s test determines
whether we resume
lives whose goodness
we didn’t appreciate
or veer into the thicket
of procedures, surgery,
disagreeable treatments
that may not matter.
Today, with effort, I can still
imagine happily ever after,
close my eyes, make a wish,
touch a talisman for luck.
Right this minute, entangled
on the bed, covered only
by late afternoon sun,
we hold each other’s hands,
refuse to let go.
© Carolyn Jabs
Carolyn Jabs has written poetry off and on ever since she figured out how to hold a pencil. She published her first poem in Seventeen magazine when she was in college, but she put poetry aside to become a professional writer. Her essays and articles have appeared in dozens of publications including the New York Times, Newsweek, Working Mother, Self, Redbook and Family PC. She is also the author of The Heirloom Gardener, one of the first books about heirloom vegetables, and co-author of Cooperative Wisdom, Bringing People Together When Things Fall Apart, an award-winning book about an innovative approach to conflict resolution. After retiring from commercial writing, Carolyn pivoted back to poetry and was fortunate enough to be included in a workshop managed by Perie Longo, a former poet laureate of Santa Barbara. In the past few years, Carolyn’s poetry has been published by Quartet, Brushfire, San Pedro Review, California Quarterly, Evening Street Review, Anacapa Review and other journals. Carolyn and her husband live in Santa Barbara where she practices Tai Chi and serves on the Board of the Women’s Fund of Santa Barbara.
Bravo! Your poems are wonderful, but then I knew they would be. Your light goes everywhere you go.
Thank you for sharing them.
BC