Jerry Hicks is a Bakersfield native. He is an Los Angeles slam host, impresario, and performance poet anthologized in publications, such as Rattle, CQ, Phoenix, Anthology, and Dan River. He received the Excellence in Literary Arts Award from the City of Torrance Cultural Arts Committee in 1999.
About the poems in this selection Jerry Hicks writes, "The poems are about a well know musician, George Embry and his wife, who lived in Richmond in the 1940's and Fresno in the 1950's. George had a large orchestra and also played with most of the jazz greats of his time. He passed away in 1989."
An Author's Hands
-------for George Embry, unsung great bass man
On my right thumb, at the joint,
At eight my hands were soft.
His hands planted and hoed,
George's hands were often grease
I'm yet addicted
a sore throbs.
The scab won't seal a dime-size wound,
yet I'm as proud of this emblem
of manual labor
as some of their diamond pinkie rings.
George, my guardian, glorified
callused hands--
disparaged my solitary reading binges.
repaired bamboo fishing rods,
hauled crab nets from the frigid
mire of San Francisco Bay.
They restored engines to vigor,
shot a rifle, and cradled sick dogs.
They rattled pans on the stove
Sunday mornings;
tightened Ball jar lids in late July.
encrusted, scabbed, cracked.
His backhand disciplined
unruly boys,
but his broken-nailed fingers
tossed countless baseballs
to squinty-eyed catchers.
to flipping pages with fingers child-soft,
but I've never lost
a deep abiding respect for calluses.
Tombs are houses with provisioned tables
George tells me aside they haven't
Shortly after, muted by the stroke,
Kate doesn't mourn so much as
I plead with her, "come visit. Let me
"Yes," is her hollow reply.
She tires easily and her pallor indicates
"I just want to go home," she says on
"Should I come?" "No," they assure
Fooling all, she follows George--dies
In my house there's a tomb--one
Perhaps if I listen at Frost's telephone,
and freshly made beds--populated by spirits.
had sex in eleven years yet looks
content in the Golden Anniversary
pictures, though Kate was miffed because
he wouldn't wear his teeth.
he pulls the IV's from his now skinny
wrists--pleads with dull blue eyes.
Tearfully, we accede: wish him
God speed as he slips into a coma..
bemoan; takes his passing as an insult;
tries to appear resigned but,
his vamoosing has struck at her core.
care for you as you once cared for me."
hepatitis, but it's really pancreatic cancer.
The young surgeon removes it--cures her.
the phone, teeth clinched against pain.
me. " She'll be okay."
quietly without begging our leave.
room with freshly made bed
awaiting a grieving mother.
I'll once again hear a voice from childhood:
"Come home. Fresh cookies are cooling."
All text and images in The Central California Poetry Journal are copyrighted. Copyright by © by Scott Galloway2002. All rights are reserved. See main Journal page for copyright information.
Authors and poets submitting original materials to this journal retain all rights to their original work, except those rights specifically assigned in writing to Solo Publications including the right to publish the submitted work in The Central California Poetry Journal. The poems on this page are copyrighted by the author. Copyright © Jerry Hicks
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