Big Event: Phillip Larrea and Jan Haag to Read at SPC
Presents
Phillip Larrea and Jan Haag
Monday, May 13, 2013 at 7:30 PM
1719 25th Street at SPC
Host: Emmanuel Sigauke
1719 25th Street at SPC
Host: Emmanuel Sigauke
Phillip Larrea is a syndicated columnist, and has been a widely published poet in the U.S., U.K. and Europe. Some of his favorite credits include Commonline Journal, The Rusty Nail, and Decades Review in the U.S., as well as Poetry Bus Magazine, Outburst, Nazar Look, and Silver Bow Anthology 2012, internationally. Phillip studied poetry with Thom Gunn and Karl Shapiro at U.C. Davis, back in the day when tablets were made of stone. His chapbook, Our Patch (Writing Knights Press), was released January 2013. Phillip’s full-length poetry collection, We the People (Cold River Press), was released in April, 2013.
Closing Time
I leave some paper on the bar.
Thank my Host for a pretty good time.
All work for Him, I know.
I pretend we are on good terms, nonetheless.
Most of my fellow revelers have left.
I don't know where they go
when they are not here.
Doesn't much matter, I suppose.
Tonight, the home team has staged an upset
against all the bookmakers' odds.
A rebound from last week's crushing defeat.
I collect my winnings, buy Jack Daniels all around.
This earns me a dance and squeeze
from that pretty young thing
who drops by every now and again.
She has the good sense to leave early though.
I'm ruddy. The game is in the books.
A bit of pinch and tickle.
I'm old enough to know
this is as good as it gets.
The Man gives me that look now.
Like it's time to close up shop.
Outside, I find I still have scrip in my pocket.
I wish I had left it all on the bar.
Closing Time
I leave some paper on the bar.
Thank my Host for a pretty good time.
All work for Him, I know.
I pretend we are on good terms, nonetheless.
Most of my fellow revelers have left.
I don't know where they go
when they are not here.
Doesn't much matter, I suppose.
Tonight, the home team has staged an upset
against all the bookmakers' odds.
A rebound from last week's crushing defeat.
I collect my winnings, buy Jack Daniels all around.
This earns me a dance and squeeze
from that pretty young thing
who drops by every now and again.
She has the good sense to leave early though.
I'm ruddy. The game is in the books.
A bit of pinch and tickle.
I'm old enough to know
this is as good as it gets.
The Man gives me that look now.
Like it's time to close up shop.
Outside, I find I still have scrip in my pocket.
I wish I had left it all on the bar.
Jan Haag is a creative writing and journalism professor at Sacramento City College. She has worked as a reporter and copy editor for newspapers and United Press International, as well as serving as editor-in-chief of Sacramento magazine. She holds a master’s degree in English and Journalism from California State University, Sacramento. A poet and novelist, Jan is the author of Companion Spirit, a poetry collection just released by Amherst Writers & Artists Press. She has completed a young adult novel set in British Columbia and is working on a novel set in Sacramento in the 1950s and 1970s. She is an Amherst Writers and Artists affiliate who leads writing workshops in Sacramento.
companion spirit
walking in the
front door i
have to catch myself
at the threshold-
the first breath inside,
i inhale you
another step, woozy
with the scent of dog
and wood shavings,
i breathe again
you
here
i call your name,
hoping,
but there is
no answer
no dog
no wood
except the oak
tables you
crafted by hand,
the shavings long
swept away
i pause in
our living room
barely breathing
heart thudding
though there is
no vision
no voice
you've made an
appearance
inhaling you
again, i use
your line when
you'd first hear my
voice on the phone:
http://www.sacramentopoetrycenter.com/phillip-larrea-and-jan-haag/
companion spirit
walking in the
front door i
have to catch myself
at the threshold-
the first breath inside,
i inhale you
another step, woozy
with the scent of dog
and wood shavings,
i breathe again
you
here
i call your name,
hoping,
but there is
no answer
no dog
no wood
except the oak
tables you
crafted by hand,
the shavings long
swept away
i pause in
our living room
barely breathing
heart thudding
though there is
no vision
no voice
you've made an
appearance
inhaling you
again, i use
your line when
you'd first hear my
voice on the phone:
http://www.sacramentopoetrycenter.com/phillip-larrea-and-jan-haag/
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