A Celebration of the Wheel of the Year
in Places Around the Bay

Patria Brown, Poetry
Barbara Clark, Monotypes

This chapbook is a second edition of a collaboration between a painter and a poet. Our connection grew out of experiences hiking in places around the San Francisco Bay over many years. Out of this closeness evolved an exhibition of poetry and painting to celebrate sacred sites around the bay as the wheel of the year turns.

As we painted and wrote, we discovered that our creative endeavors inspired each other.

Although we worked in different media, we met often, feeling a sense of excitement, even crossing the boundaries of our disciplines, broadening our perceptions, deepening our insights.

In response to Barbara’s series of thirteen painted panels that were displayed for the exhibition, Patria composed a garland of sonnets, a cycle of thirteen interconnected poems of fourteen lines. In addition to the paintings, Barbara created a series of monotypes especially for the book.

Together, the works capture the journey of light through

Dawn in Saint Patrick’s Seminary,
Morning in Kirby Cove,
Sunset in the Alviso Slough,
Dusk on Mt. Umunum,
Midnight on Mt. Hamilton,
Yule in the Baylands,
Brigid in Buckeye Canyon,
Eostar on Mt. Tamalpais,
Beltane on Summit Trail,
Litha in Coyote Creek,
Lughsdad on San Bruno,
Mabon in Owl Canyon, and
Samhain in Eucalyptus Grove.

Sister stars laughing—
long and cold— the trip hard
far beyond the place where
no one sees spruce, sun-dashed,
or rain-impregnated hills, wind—
funneled on the coast’s ragged dance.

In this empty region, dying light
burns steady. When called, Father, you
will not soon return, nor may they linger.
Hurled earthward, they land square beneath
the raven, shy on this rocky trail of hurt.
No balm for their wounds but words—

the search greater than all telling—
inside the body of fire— this live altar.

Imbolc, February 2nd

The last thread in her tapestry of loss—
out of the dark— fruit fallen—

tufts, pale, sudden as hope, and
glad water rushes down the gorge.

In a tangle of cottonwood, sweet
hearts plunge fast, gurgle, practice sex,

stagger up the swelling brook where
manzanita reaches out to snag a sleeve.

The only change lovers make
is closeness to their kin.

The final days— their arms around each dying
friend, the trees desire — a natural end.

The flicker sings of sustenance, not doom.
Butterflies sleep in their cocoons.

Spring Equinox March 19th

Butterflies sleep in their cocoons,
undulations of green—
Monterey cypress startled by

such smooth surfaces
serpentine jutting— newest
offspring of yawning Mother
Earth. Gray boulders breach
mottled jade thrones.

Lay down your body—red petal,
white seed, laurel leaf—
bay spirit— spiral of stone!—
Her veins, fissures,
chasms curve seaward,
leaving the pubis exposed.

May 2nd

Leaving the pubis exposed
at the summit— heat.

The moon haunts
all the shadows—
our silent mother.

On slopes distant
from her milky stroke,
she soothes my clefts

where the silverspot nests.

I keep the count of those
who suck each clover
and rarely move
where lava once poured over.

Summer Solstice June 21st

Where lava once poured over

rivers of rock flowed inward
towards this tawny beach.

An inlet sparkles open,
and two creeks rush with
the insistence that is water—

tumble forward, restless—
thunder of a thousand tongues.
What gift could you bring?

A song ascends the canyon of
madrone— thick with miner’s grass—

the scent of lizard’s breath
tickling her ruddy crevices—
the blood of shooting stars.

August 2nd

The blood of shooting stars—
arches. Seeking the cooling
touch reaching ever up,
laughing in coyote brush, fields of
lupin and mallow disappeared.

With want and quaking—
expectancy ignites
strikes from the side, splits
right through, falls back,
feels loss in the core

forehead falling to the feet,
insides spilled out, piled up—
half my heart brought down
Though I am aroused.

Fall Equinox, September 22

Though I am aroused,
and fog descends, drab
brother rolling my ravines,
glistening, then wet.

Exposed— pain
yearns for love,
release and the fall
back into myself.

Offspring dig into my flesh.
By day, they forget me,
yet they will return
to my night. I nurture

all my children,
then I eat them.

Then I eat them—
the berries— fierce messengers
of heart harbored in this hollow.

Robins fatten on linked seeds—
plump flesh of the soil, heaped,
damp maidenhair turning
black eucalyptus peeling
creamy veins of secret rivers.

Berries scream red through winter—
piercing pleasure in curls of bark,
night lengthening next to my ripening.

Ripen, ripen until you fall free.
Be buried. Join me.
At dawn, the body burns.

Winter Solstice (December 21)

Inside the body of fire, this live altar—
Oh! To be young again,
riding the Mother waters,
lulled by the sapphire—
hope keeping starry vigil!

Form comes forth from nothing—
swaddled in sheets of ice

’Til morning, then
sound— the short name
of woman cresting.

Wonder spins
In languages of spiders, hisses
out each newborn’s breath—
the last tread in her tapestry of loss.

You have found another world—
grasses shimmering, the latent fire
of chaparral— out of the owl’s sweep.

Beneath the killing eye,
a morsel in the dusk-filled weeds.
A fir branch rustles sharp— Father,

they carry their dying dark and green,
a sacrifice to the silhouette of pines,
who never cry at sunset. You taught

how men are dangerous, and what
we all destroy when we swerve from
what we were meant for. Into the night

your souls will go out—
sister stars, laughing.

Offered up in the tule fog of morning,
rustling by teasel, whispering sisters
steer through the salt marsh in
rusty yellow boats, captives
of the great blue heron.
One cautions the other.
Aim your paddle at the roots
of the reeds we’re to gather.
In a dream,
their grandmother said,
weave a cape, cut, dry
soak tule in salt water.
Make days together
twisting time into strength.

Twisting time into strength,
snowy egrets linger— slow
dinner rises from the mire.
Tall as tules, one sister—
hair falling down— silver, gold,
down her waist. The short one
slices off clumps of stems
two stalks at each center—
heart. Retreating, vessel full—
reeds, pungent, with bay mud
gliding deep into the rust of
afternoon. Twining their souls.
You have found another world.