SoCal Winter Solstice (poetry)

~ M. Ashley

The insectile buzz of a mower mowing a 16th of an acre

Patch of green grass on December 21st. Cars on the

Northside thoroughfare wooshing in waves—high tide

At sunrise commute, low tide at bright and lazy after-lunch.

The smell of your next-to-you neighbor’s cigarettes.

His cough. The smell of your behind-you neighbor’s pot

Smoke—as blessedly un-dangerous a skunk encounter 

As you will ever have. Lucious pink Cape Cod roses

Preening on raggedy brown bushes bordering an oil-

Stained driveway. Even unseasonal human

Things are made of Nature. She smiles, shakes her

Starry curls and is not all that ashamed of us today.

-M. Ashley

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Published by M. Ashley

I am an essayist and poet. My work has been rejected by some of the finest journals in America. Fortunately, it also gets accepted from time to time and has appeared in equally fine journals such as Word Riot, Inlandia, Brew City Magazine, and SageWoman, among others.. In 2002, I won the Academy of American Poets Prize for Vanderbilt University.
 For no good reason, I possess an unnecessarily dark humor which is why being third generation California Inland Empirian delights me so. My gods are weird. I once won $350 for writing a smartassed essay on “why the wise use of water is important in my daily life”. I am undoubtedly the Greek god Hermes’ special snowflake. I’m pretty sure I got into college via a series of fortuitous clerical errors.
 When I had to grow up and get a real job, I decided against it and stayed a writer. I have worked many odd—and I mean odd—jobs to support my habit: PR writer for country music hopefuls, resume massager, WalMart fitting room attendant and switchboard operator, and telephone psychic, just to name a few.
 I am also albino. That's why my psychic gifts are so strong. I traded in my pigment for magical foresight, because that's how it works. It gets all technical. Trust me. That's totally how it works.

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