Seattle 2006

    by Bebe Cook

Momma’s voice ricochets in the void; a wave

returns her to me via transmitters.

The strength of her signal cools

fear planted by seeds of intuition.

A fierce connection was formed

when her blood fed my body;

In autumnal days shaky hands prepare for winter

This is not like the trip to Seattle.

Ocean’s salty musk; black coffee, market-spice

tea mingled with the scent of her: Chloe perfume

and Marlboro Lights.  We savored that city,

wandered through local shops, stopped

when she tired, sat at wrought iron bistro tables.

I scavenged impromptu suppers;

a chunk of cheese, black bread

baked in stone ovens and offerings

from the local vineyards, paper sacks

of native berries.

On Puget Sound the tide rolled;

we soaked up lingering rays, drank wine

from Dixie-cups, spread cheese with fingers.

Her hand covered mine.

A promise was spoken between tongue and teeth

stained with blackberries, with full understanding

of the significance of intervals

between crests of waves.

Bebe Cook is a native Texan and comes from a southern U.S. oral tradition of story-telling.  She believes poetry is an opportunity to create a bridge; a chance to invite the reader to share a few minutes, to get acquainted and loves that every time a poem is read it is transformed by the intent of the writer and the experiences of the reader into something new.  She has placed in local and national poetry contests and continues to write poetry to record her own rooms and moments in order to bring that tradition to the page.  Her work has appeared in Flutter Poetry Journal, Autumn Sky Poetry, Six Little Things and The Cartier Street Review.  She enriches her writing with the diversity of gardening, photography, and working as an environmental scientist.

© 2009 Bebe Cook