Poems by Meryl Natchez

Dawn in Monterey

by Meryl Natchez

From Canary Spring 2011

Meryl lives overlooking coast live oaks that line the canyon of Cerrito Creek as it flows into the San Francisco Bay.

This morning it is dark
when I hit the beach.
Black willets skitter at the edge
of black foam, seals a condensed
blackness against black water.
As I run eastward, a hint of gold
against grey, grey sand, grey sky.
By the time I turn back
color has gently returned
to the world, the sea
grey gold, the sand
the color of sand,
a dawn palette, softened
by pink and golden light.
And in the sheltered channel
between dock and seawall
an otter bobs
asleep on its back,
front paws clasped
beneath its chin, the fur there
a downy brown.
It breathes
as we breathe—
belly moving slowly in and out—
curled on the palm of the water.

© Meryl Natchez

Eleven Daffodils

by Meryl Natchez

From Canary Spring 2014

What am I to make of these daffodils,
perfumed strumpets
picked who knows where
by who knows whom
perhaps genetically modified,
commercially fertilized,
doused with pesticide?

These questions did not arise
when I tossed the budded stems
into my shopping cart
on a chill afternoon:
essence of Spring
for a dollar twenty-nine.

Now they sit
and pump out scent,
molecules of daffodil
mixing with molecules of oxygen
around my desk
until I am dizzy
with praise
and regret.

I’m Rooting for the Human Race

After Cortney Lamar Charleston

by Meryl Natchez

From Canary Spring 2024

The human race has done some shit! And I don’t just mean what we’ve
conjured from imagination and clay, the warm air whooshing through vents to
coddle my chilled feet, the sound of coffee beans grinding for my morning fix,
and the trip those beans made to get to me. Look at the forest, then look at the
city street. Consider cathedrals and string theory. Gotta admit we are
something else. And the way we’ve elbowed the others aside! The list of what
we’ve displaced takes many pages made of trees or myriad screens powered
with cobalt and sparks. Everybody take a moment to applaud. Everybody take
a moment to mourn. We started with rock and sticks and we’re moving fast. I
really hope the human race makes it. It’s not just our structures and
strictures. It’s that apple tree, bursting into fluffy fireworks in the spring rain.
Without us, whose breath would catch just looking at it?