From Issue I (2016)   


Fruit trees next door


These persimmons have no more to say
about green. From a distance,
you can catch a barely audible yellow,
though not as tight-lipped as lemon.

But up close, wetting a thumb
to wipe the dust off,
you can hear the ochre in it.

And some outgoing fruit
has begun to whisper
about a reddish-brown orange—
only a rumor so far
that the whole tree will confirm
come November.


Palm Dairy


The light is almost liquid
this early, infused
with that indigenous herb
we call Stillness.

A cool tea to wake up with,
it has the aroma of
alfalfa cut late last night,
a slightly saffron color,

and a taste
I don’t know how to describe—
but want to sip again

Don Thompson

Don Thompson was born and raised in Bakersfield, California, and has lived in the southern San Joaquin Valley for most of his life. Now retired from teaching in the prison system, he lives with his wife, Chris, on her family’s farm. Thompson has been publishing poetry since the early sixties, including a dozen books and chapbooks. For more information and links to his publications, visit his website, San Joaquin Ink, at don-e-thompson.com.