Not Yet
spring, scratching at my skin and burning my eyes
the persistent chirping of a mockingbird
the sun too hot too early, on cold dry skin
long shadows on longer evenings
wild mustard and fescue
pushing through what has been carefully planted
exhaling hay fever
gnats, fruit flies, mosquitoes
sagging fruit trees
too full, too fast
cars whisk by leaving flashes of sound: rock music, mariachi, angry voices
there are new neighbors
unfamiliar voices filtering through the fence lined thick with xylosma
there are foxtails poking through my socks
but I am like the iris bulbs in the earth
waiting for their resurrection
not yet, not yet
___
Suzanne Maguire grew up running in the hills behind La Sierra University, playing hide and seek among the orange groves on Irving and Victoria Avenue, and racing her brother and sisters along the Gage canal. She took classes at Riverside Community College and received her bachelor’s degree in history from the University of California, Riverside. The more she writes the more she realizes that this city, or some fictional version of it, is not only the setting of her stories and poems, but a major character as well.
Inlandia: A Literary Journey 