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Taylor Graham


For hours I drove through night-fog, earth cold
and unfamiliar as a lover with face shawled.

Sunday circle, aging ladies gather one and one
and one. So many stories to be told and retold.

Earthquake shook the china off the shelf.
Church-bells, one against another, pealed.

When we pruned the roses, did they grieve?
How many blossoming summers they held.

I looked for you in the Garden of Drought —
lavender and sage — herbs the earth healed.

How you’ve made me laugh, so many years
we loved like children. How could we get old?

The wild goose mates for life. Look, a skein
of ten; a lone goose waiting in the field.

About Taylor Graham

Email: piper {at} I'm a volunteer search-and-rescue dog handler in the Sierra Nevada and also help my husband, a retired wildlife biologist, with his field projects. The dogs and poetry keep me more or less sane--poetry's a way of imposing some sort of order on a world that seems more and more out of control. Her book, ( The Downstairs Dance Floor, was awarded the Robert Phillips Poetry Chapbook Prize. She's a finalist in this year's Poets & Writers California Writers Exchange. My poems have appeared in The Iowa Review, New York Quarterly, Poetry International and elsewhere, and I'm included in the new anthology, California Poetry: From the Gold Rush to the Present. See Poets & Writers.