by Nancy Canyon | Sep 12, 2019 | Poetry
Sometimes, when the sky turnspink, I walk through the oat grassto where the ocean breathessalty air. It is there I see the curve of a woman’sjaw–a slight crescent moonshy in early morning sky, reflectingfrom still tide pool. My mirrored fingers reachto my flushed... by Nancy Canyon | Sep 12, 2019 | Poetry
Nerve Root previously posted on Poets Against War Website As a young womanI saved scrawled details,monsoons and foxholes, my brotherkeeping armed watch in Nam.Now, I step through twisted mind fields,search stagnant poolsfor scarred soldiers’ hearts.If their tenderness... by Nancy Canyon | Sep 12, 2019 | Poetry
At low tide,I scrub my windowswith clam nectar,sweep my floorswith spiny scrub brushkelp.I skip bleached bonesalong wakingwhite-capped sea,scoop billionsof splintered shellsinto a calcspar cup.I toast green bellied wavescrashing onto shore,spilling bucketsof icy... by Nancy Canyon | Sep 12, 2019 | Poetry
Previously printed in Spindrift, Shoreline Community College Journal. Grandma’s legs, skinny as green beans,stand planted firm in chocolate brown earth.She picks the last of the fall zucchinito grate and squeeze dry.Grandma’s hands, twisted as pumpkin vines,mix wheat... by Nancy Canyon | Sep 12, 2018 | Writing
*The greatest events are often drawn by hairs: Events of great pith and moment are often brought about by causes of apparently no importance. I’ll never forget mother’s words, “We’re short-haired people.” The first time she colored her hair she reminded us kids of a...
