Happiest in Tucson (from Poets & Writers  Poetry Prompt, 2.12.18)

Yesterday my friend and I
spent the day wandering through
downtown and beneath
the mountain where
over 2000 years ago,
Tucson became a living place
for humans.

They joined the coyotes,
bobcats, mountain lions,
lizards, butterflies and
birds who thrived along
the rushing waters of
the Santa Cruz River.

Corn was planted,
homes were formed out of mud,
shade trees softened the
summers.
Much later,
a mission was built,
bringing the word of God
to those already living
the Word.

Today, we saw a few
hard-working young women
and men working the fields of
Tucson's Mission Gardens,
hauling compost, digging holes
collecting brittle stalks and leaves.

With the workers then and now,
I embrace our living history
filling me with stories
of the place I call home.
And where I am the happiest.

Betweens

This poem was written in response to a Poets & Writers 7/21/17 prompt to look at a photograph from a recent trip and write a poem that "explores the distance between your current self and the photograph, and between an image and a feeling or memory." I visited my birthplace town and home for twenty-one years, Elgin, Illinois in May of this year, taking photos of my first home and my dad's sister's home.  It is dedicated to Linda Sjurset Esposito, who lived across the street from me in Elgin, Illinois.  Her birthday is today 8/29/17.

My first Fonte-Dice home on Melrose, Ave., Elgin, Illnois.  It is a Sears & Roebuck Craftsman house.

Sjurset-Fonte home on Melrose Ave., Elgin, Illinois

My home on Melrose Avenue,

almost two thousand miles away

and sixty-two years ago--

I remember mom, 

standing over the porcelain kitchen sink, 

straining red berry juice through white cheesecloth.

She is to busy too play with me,

so I wander outside,

dragging my Buster Brown shoes

over the newly-mowed grass,

up to the border 

of the street-forbidden-to-cross.

I gaze longingly

at the black asphalt

and spy my cousin sitting on the steps 

in front of her house.

We wave at each other, 

our late summer smiles

bridging the boundaries

between us.

Early Spring in the Sonoran Desert

Creosote bushes frame the edges on Sunrise Drive.

Mulberry feathers open from 

bottom branches of trees in the plaza.

Pink flowers are dampened by fountain spray

where St. Philip stands,

cross in hand 

as Lenten Bells ring:

It’s time for penance.

I give up nothing.

Instead,

I open to the season 

teasing me to trust,

to wander a bit off the well-worn path

considering--

how it would feel to fly like the red-tailed hawk 

searching for prey, 

finding it--

outside the shadows.

(from Poets & Writers Prompt, March/April 2017)

Something Silly: Two Summer Poems

Finding Dory

[Response to Poets & Writers Prompt, 7/7/16—write a poem about a blockbuster summer movie]

Dory repeats,

Circles,

Splashes,

Jumps in and out of sea water and fresh water--

A blue and yellow bird with fins.

Along her journey—

Her friends never desert her or

Want her to change her ways.

Dory never gives up.

She repeats,

Circles,

Splashes….

Popcorn Snow

[Response to a prompt: the snow is falling but those are not snowflakes]

It’s a topsy-turvy land.

Trees grow with

Russet roots spreading upward into a

Gingham sky.

Children touch velvet clouds,

Sleep in hammocks perched on pillows of purple grass.

Winter brings rain of glistening pearl drops

And

In summer,

Hills are covered with popcorn snow.

My Manifesto

NOTE:  Inspired and challenged by “A brief guide to world domination: How to Live a Remarkable Life in a Conventional World” by Chris Guillebeau and by Poets & Writers 3/10/16 non-fiction prompt, I am sharing my “manifesto”. –anita c. fonte 3/2016

Beliefs:  Equal justice and opportunity for everyone; the cup IS half full (and I am grateful there is a cup); everyone is capable of creating something good; the world is complex and dynamic; we are connected to each other and to our natural environment; we share responsibility for each other and our natural environment; facts, based on verifiable and generalizable research is a foundation of truth but feelings cannot be ignored and need to be “heard”; stories give our lives meaning.

  

Principles:  Collaborate when possible and it’s usually possible; once committed to a task, I will do my personal and professional best to complete it; I am willing to be willing; I have and will continue to invest my time, talents and financial resources to invest in my community; I will take moderate risks—if and when I encounter them.

Goals:  Work with others to BuildUP^ a better community, keep learning, growing, changing; have some fun; combine creativity with productivity; stay connected to the people who matter to me; celebrate milestones of work and life.

Tiny Poems from Mt. Lemmon

On the porch at Mt. Lemmon,
I read poems and rock
back and forth
like the flowers
bending in the breeze.

Father, you are lifted
into the arms of
a lady in blue
who covers you
with clouds.

First poem of the Year

from a prompt via Poets & Writers, The Time is Now, 1/9/2014

Winter Storm

I had just started to read “War and Peace.”

Borrowed from the public library,

its weight impressing my imagination,

parchments papers crinkling under my fingers.

When the storm came with wind and cold rain,

ice formed on the wires and hung from our gutters.

My mother warmed our beds with a cast iron skillet,

heated in the basement stove—the electricity in the kitchen,

And throughout the house was gone.

I bundled in blankets and sat in the basement,

oddly warmer than the rest of the house.

My grandmother gave us an oil-lamp so I could read at night.

Natasha swirled in her Russian house,

Blood dripped on the battlefield,

And I was in awe as ice formed daggers,                                                                                     

sharpening as the storm cut me from Illinois life,

binding me to Tolstoy’s turbulence.