"Hi, Moon," by Christopher Fox Graham

She says “hi, moon,”

like they are old friends.

With every day I spend with her

I wonder if they are

She knows where the moon is in the sky when I do not,

and I have been walking on this earth

compass in hand,

for 40 times her life

I rarely get lost

yet, she seems to know

where her old friend is

every time we see him

She says hi to the stars

reaches up like she can touch them

I want to explain to her

the distance

of light years

How the balls of fire we see in the sky

are millions of years older than us

And even in our fastest ship

We will never reach them in our lifetime

I want to explain these things her

but she's not old enough to understand the words

And I wonder

if she's right

Because, truthfully,

I do not know the length of a light year

I have read it in books

been told by wiser men and women than me

And I believe them

because that is what we must do

to survive this world:

believe those who study these things

so we can go about our day

living

So I wonder if she's right

If I reach out my hand and say “hi, star”

with the same enthusiasm that she does

Will I hear them speak back?

When they reach through the night sky

when no one else is looking

shake hands with me,

Touch my fingers to theirs?

Say,

“It has been some time since we've spoken.

How are you?

We are doing fine

up here in the night

watching you down there

learning to learn

learning how things grow

feeling how things feel

what gravity is

what knees are

I wonder

if she their ambassador to us

or just another traveler

right now, it doesn't matter

because she's waving hello to the moon again

and I can't prove it

but I swear I saw him wave back

I posted this poem on Thursday, Feb. 13, 2020, and made this video in March 2020, but apparently forgot to post it, so it's been in my "drafts" for six years.

Lizard the Wizard, Sondraya and Lalli will represent Sedona at the BlackBerry Peach Poetry Slam's Arizona Championship

Chosen by the five judges in the audience after three rounds of high-energy, competitive spoken word at the Sedona International Film Festival's Mary D. Fisher Theatre, the top three poets at the Saturday, March 9, Sedona Poetry Slam earned spots to compete at the BlackBerry Peach Poetry Slam's Arizona Championship, to be held in Phoenix on Friday, April 19. 

From a field of 14 competing poets, the top three slam poets earning Sedona's berths are:

Lizard the Wizard, with a score of 82.2

Lizard the Wizard, photo by Christopher Fox Graham

Sondraya, with a score of 78.5

Sondraya Bradley, photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers

Lalli, with a score of 77.7

Jason Lalli, photo by Christopher Fox Graham

The other competors included Adrienne Peters of Phoenix, Cylie Naylor of Scottsdale, Eric Hoff of Sedona, "Moose" of Phoenix, Roger Blakiston of the Village of Oak Creek, Bear Smith of Sedona, Gary Every of Cottonwood, LMB of Prescott and Rex Arrasmith of Sedona.

Athena Zelda Nebula Skye Sylvia Diana Fox Graham, age 5, of Sedona, and Naughty A. Mouse of Phoenix, calibrated the slam.

Athena Zelda Nebula Skye Sylvia Diana Fox Graham, photo by Christopher Fox Graham

BlackBerry Peach

The top three poets will earn Sedona's three spots at the BlackBerry Peach National Poetry Slam's Arizona State Championships, sponsored by the Arizona State Poetry Society.

Three poets each from open poetry slams in Sedona, Mesa, Prescott, Phoenix and Flagstaff will compete at the 15-poet slam held by Ghost Poetry Slam and hosted by Ben “B-Jam” Gardea on Friday, April 19. 

The overall state champion will win trip sponsored by the ASPS to represent Arizona at the National Federation of State Poetry Societies' BlackBerry Peach National Slam from June 5 to 8 in Roswell, Ga.

B-Jam, photo by Sedona Poetry Slam

A regular competitor at the Sedona Poetry Slam, B-Jam is a Phoenix native, married father of three children. Gardea overcame both alcoholism and a rare hip disease that made him unable to walk. After getting sober and a total hip replacement, he had two goals: To share his poetry and and hike a mountain in Sedona. Three years later, B-Jam is the 2023 ASPS State Poetry Slam champion, ranked 10th nationally and has curated writers workshops, featured at poetry events, won a grant to publish a poetry book and is the host and producer of the popular PHX Poetry Slam.

“Poetry has changed my life and I want to be a caretaker of the artform for future generations to explore and become part of, because I know that poetry can make the most profound impact on human beings,” B-Jam said. 

B-Jam, photo by Sedona Poetry Slam

Oak Creek flooding north of Sedona at Rainbow Trout Farm on Jan. 1, 2023

 

Oak Creek at the Rainbow Trout Farm and Rainbow Mobile Home Park in Oak Creek Canyon around 4:45 p.m. On Sunday, Jan, 1, 2023. Athena and I went for a drive to see snow and I shot this on the errand. 

The low-water bridge between State Route 89A and the Rainbow Trout Farm area is completely submerged. 

Oak Creek has its headquarters in Oak Creek Canyon, then flows through Sedona to the confluence with the Verde River between Cottonwood and Camp Verde in the Verde Valley of Northern Arizona. The Verde then flows south to the Salt River, into the Gila River and finally the Colorado River before emptying into the Sea of Cortez.

I also posted this to the Larson Newspapers YouTube page

"When She Asks About the Photo ..." by Christopher Fox Graham

When she asks about the photo

do not tell her that is her great-grandma

the woman she just met weeks ago

for the first time

the woman whose name she shares

whose blood beats in your mother's heart

in your heart

and in hers

who held her weeks ago

taught her how to pet a dog

gently

so he would not nip at her fingers

who gave her Teddy Grahams

in a Ziploc bag

when she asked you, daddy, for a snack

she was always giving that way

do not confirm who the woman in the photo is

she already knows

because her heart beats the same blood

as your heart

as your mother's

and great-grandma's

blood knows blood

despite the distance between computer screens

DNA is a helix handshake defying the digital

wrapping through history 

but she will ask still

and you will tell her

When she asks why great-grandma is in the hospital

do not tell her great-grandma is dying

the woman she just met weeks ago

you knew she was dying

that's why you went

why you boarded the plane with your mother

and your daughter

drove across the wide open

that is Montana

sailing the seas of field peas, mint, lentils, flax, safflower

to the wheat fields that made your family

her dying

is why you came

so they could meet

Sylvia Rebie, meet Athena Sylvia 

four generations 95 years apart

say hello and goodbye

in the same breath

one of you beginning

one of you nearing the end

she doesn't ask why we are here

why Montana is

why Arizona is away

why your wife stayed there and did not come

your wife, she cares too much

would want to help

but there is no rescue here, no salvation

you want this to burn, to hurt, to cut deep

to scar over

you want to bleed into this soil, this farm, this homestead

these Redfields

leave part of you in this dirt

where you never lived

but to where you are bound

and when they ask

this is where you are really from

we are here to say goodbye

your daughter does not know this

it's why great-grandma asked us to come

but your daughter does not know this

your daughter only knows the green

open fields with no fences

dogs playing fetch, gophers evading

pronghorn leaping over fences

deer that rarely see cars on these roads

flowers whose names you do not know

but would if you had grown up here

your daughter would run for days

if you were not here to chase her

across the ranches and farms

that have fed your family

that shared the same blood and womb

so you pretend you're not here

for the reason you're here

wasting breath fighting fate

instead

listen to the stories

ask about the photographs

accept the books she wants you to take home

take photos of them together

so years from now

when she asks about her name

why she likes puddles

how she learn to pet a dog gently

so he would not nip at her fingers

you can point back to this and remind her

of her legacy

let her earn these memories

let great-grandma laugh with one more great-granddaughter

so no hill can hinder that sound 

echoing from horizon to horizon

it's why Eastern Montana so is perfectly flat

just over the border

Death glows in the red sunset, 

waiting

but in Montana, 

even Death 

must take his time

When she asks about the photo

do not tell her without speech

that is someone she knows 

dying

you don't have to

you are sobbing 

without speech

words evicted from your throat

she knows this burns, 

this hurts, 

this cuts deep

because you left your blood and tears in the soil

at the homestead,

in the Redfields

where you are all really from

she learns shared blood makes fathers cry

but she doesn't know Death

he is still just a red sunset

instead she knows the green

the wheat fields

the dogs, the deer, the red barn

dancing at her cousin's wedding

the old woman always laughing

she is where your daughter is really from

When she asks about the photo

don't tell her that is family

dozens bound by wombs and rings

don't tell her great-grandma is there 

beneath them

in the soil next to Papa

where you are all really from

don't waste breath fighting fate

her heart beats the same blood

but now she knows 

where she is really from

"Dear Daughter" by Christopher Fox Graham

 

Dear daughter,

for the last three and a half years 

you, your mother and I have been 

a trifecta of awesome

you the cataclysm

your mother the emergency response

and me the PR department

I cannot predict you

nor aid in the recovery

like your mother

I merely tell strangers, “it could be worse

“be thankful this is as bad as it was 

“this is the damage you can expect to see

“now, go and tell your relatives you survived

“warn them of what's on the horizon”

for three and a half years 

you have been the center of our world

now, two planets will emerge from the darkness

twin stars rising above the horizon 

a pair of orbs to orbit alongside you

I am sorry you are no longer solo

but I am not sorry you are no longer solo

your mother is doing all the labor

I only assisted

I am the RBI

Mission Control

riding shotgun on this out of control stagecoach 

off the cliff of having twins

You have not gained competitors

nor enemies 

but co-conspirators

allies in your little girl revolution

fellow doombringers

heart pirates

hunters on the savanna

warships in a squadron

raining down hellfire at range

Athena wasn't alone either

after she sprang fully arm'd and armor'd

from the mind of Zeus

Hera bore her siblings, too

you will be a trifecta, granddaughters of Chaos

We have gone from trio to quintet 

we do not count by even numbers in this house

me alone, then your mother and you

then the twins

We are a Fibonacci family

we do not yet know who or what they will be

but if, like you

they are equal weights of metric-level amazing

I can only imagine you'll love them as much as we do

they will not be strangers

but as more you, than I am

after all, they're only half me,

half your mother

but you and they share more DNA

and in the end the three of you are more the same

than I and your mother are

keep this in mind

they are not opponents to counter

but allies to co-opt

so do not be jealous

we are having them 

because you are too awesome to be alone

they exist because you were a victory

that needed replication

they are your echoes

evidence of your success

you are first and always will be

I love you singularly for all the days of your life

instead, imagine them in their differences as 

sidekicks

wingmen

your accomplices

Jedi padawans or Sith apprentices

the double-barreled Boomstick

to your Ash Williams

Companions to your Doctor Who,

yes, my blue pickup is the TARDIS

but when in time

your mother and I spent our last

and we are no more

when we are ash and worm's meat

you and they will be what remains

not echoes

nor sequels

nor reimaginings

nor remakes

but the copyedited versions of our rough drafts

new testaments to the old religions

you are the sins forgiven

the word made flesh

the dreams come true

the better versions

of what we wish we were

In memory of my grandmother, Sylvia Rebie Redfield (December 14, 1925 - July 28, 2021)

My mother's mother, Sylvia Redfield, great-grandmother to my daughter, mother of 7, grandmother to 14, great-grandmother to 15, died just before 8 a.m., Montana Time July 28, 2021, at a hospital in Glasgow, Mont., at age 95.

Photo by Jennifer Ray Photography

My mother Sylvia Redfield Elliott called me from the hospital.

She was diagnosed with cancer this spring, which is why I and mom took Athena Zelda Nebula Skye Sylvia Diana Fox Graham to Montana in June, so she could meet her namesake.

Grandma Sylvia told me four things when we embraced for the last time:

1. "I'm happy you came" 
2. "I wish I had gotten to know Laura better" (she only met my wife once at Christmas in 2017 and once when when we went to pick up a table, when she was still pregnant.)
3. "I'm happy I got to meet Athena" 
4. "Take care of that little girl"

She also said not to look at her because if she saw how I was crying, she would start crying too. 

Athena only has good memories of Montana, the wide open spaces, the dogs, and great-grandma. 

She was funny, always laughing when she told stories. 

She is the wife of the late Frank "Buster" Redfield aka "Papa" from my poem, "We Call Him Papa". 

They met at the USO. 

She never gave her number to anyone, but on her last day volunteering there, and my grandfather's first day visiting (he was a veteran of both the US Navy and the US Army, which is a story in itself), she gave him hers, figuring nothing would come of it. 

Athena met Sylvia for the first time in June and helped make wedding mints.

He called so many times to ask her out the next day, she said, that her sister just told him to come over in person. They married Dec. 6, 1947.

Frank and Sylvia on their wedding day

Grandma shows my mom the wedding dress in June.

Frank and Sylvia with their first of seven children, Georgia.

She loved literature and poetry, her favorite poet being Langston Hughes, which she said no one would expect given that she was a "little white girl growing up in the segregated South," but she said his work spoke to her. She gave me her hand-annotated "The Selected Poems of Langston Hughes," which she had re-read many times (she had bookmarks at "Sunday Morning Prophesy" "Freedom Train" and "I, Too"). This was a handwritten Hughes poem in the book:

She had an English degree, like me, from Bucknell University. She liked reading my poems and watching me perform slam poetry. 

Over the years she sent me dozens of books on all sorts of topics and children's books for Athena.

The small town of Opheim, Mont., will be dedicating its library in her name.

Like Athena, she loved puddles.

May you never have to explain to a 3-year-old why you're crying.

Sylvia Rebie Redfield

December 14, 1925 - July 28, 2021

Sylvia Rebie Redfield was born to Rebie Sylvia (McElwee) and Frank (Schleif) Slife on December 14, 1925 in Atlanta, Georgia. She passed away July 28, 2021 at the age of 95, in Glasgow, Montana.

She grew up in Atlanta and graduated from Sylvan Girls High School. 

She graduated from Bucknell University in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania with a major in history and political science and a minor in English. 

She had always wanted to be a teacher and taught at a country school in Norcross, Georgia.

While volunteering at a USO she met Frank Redfield, Jr. who was in the Army at the time. 

They dated while she was finishing college and were married December 6, 1947.

He moved the city girl to the country in 1948, and their first child was born in Glasgow in 1949. 

Later in 1949 they moved back to Atlanta where Frank was a policeman and Sylvia was a housewife — adding four more children to the family. 

In 1956, they made the permanent move back to Opheim to run the family farm. 

They eventually added two more children.

In 1987, Frank and Sylvia became snowbirds, spending half the year in Chandler, Arizona. 

Grandma and her three sons, Myron, Les and Alan, from left.

While there, Sylvia volunteered at a school and a hospital in the Patient Pride program and in the pharmacy where they loved her organizational skills. 

Sylvia moved back to Montana permanently in 2018 when her health started to decline, first living with her daughter, Lisa, and then with her son, Myron and Alice Redfield who were excellent caregivers.

Sylvia touched the lives of hundreds of children through her leadership in 4-H, Sunday school, Bible school, story hour, and as the favorite substitute teacher at Opheim School for many years. 

She was an excellent cook and shared not only with her family, but also with friends, relatives, neighbors and lonely GIs from the Glasgow Air Force Base (home of the 476th Fighter Group, 4141st Strategic Wing, 326th Bombardment Squadron and 91st Bombardment Wing from 1957-1976) and Opheim Air Force Station (home of the 779th Aircraft Control and Warning Squadron from 1951-1979).

Sylvia was a life-long learner and loved books. She always had a book in her hand or by her side and was often reading two or three books at a time. 

She kept a record of the books she read and that total reached over 2,500 books. 

Grandma with my aunts Lisa Theiven and Alice Redfield, and uncles Myron Redfield and Alan Redfield on the floor of the Montana House of Representatives. Alan served two terms as the District 59 representative from 2013 to 2021. Behind them is the 1912 Charles M. Russell painting "Lewis and Clark Meeting the Flathead Indians at Ross' Hole." Note the snarling dog above the speaker's chair - Russell hated the speaker of the house at the time, so he painted the dog to growl at him.

She volunteered at the community library and worked in the school library and had her own library at home. 

She donated books to the Opheim School library as memorials for community members who had passed away and has donated around 250 books. 

She was thrilled to have the library dedicated to her memory.

She was a woman of faith and a Bible scholar and was very active in the United Methodist Church including being a lay pastor. 

She was also a member of Eastern Star, WIFE, United Methodist Women and the American Legion Auxiliary.

She loved life and always had a smile or an encouraging word. 

She loved babies, music, dancing, poetry and a good joke.

She was preceded in death in 2004 by her husband of almost 57 years, Frank; granddaughter Erin Sheer; infant grandson, Lane Redfield; as well as her parents; sister, Mary Evans and brother, Bil Slife.

Grandma's coffin made by my uncle, Alan Redfield, engraved cross made by my cousin, Logan Redfield.

The cross being prepared by my cousin Logan

Survivors include her seven children: Georgia (Hank) Sheer, Lynn (Al) Cherry, Alan (Laurie) Redfield, Les (Lisa) Redfield, Sylvia Elliott, Myron (Alice) Redfield and Lisa (Marty) Thievin; 13 grandchildren [Jason, Zack, Jodie, Katie, Chase, Haylee, Tatum, Christopher Fox, Nicholas, J.T., Ryan, Logan and Cole]; 15 great-grandchildren and many nieces and nephews.

The library in Opheim, Montana, has been renamed in honor of my late grandmother, Sylvia Redfield, a lifelong bibliophile and one of the most well-read people I've ever known.