Ann Keiffer


I am flying back after a week visiting my home and family
in the green cathedrals of Ohio, lovely heartland of
soft green hills and green-frilled woods, cloud-shadows
roving pastoral fields of tasseling corn and grazing cattle,
where every village and town has a church at its center.

United Flight 1294 begins its descent into San Francisco.
Below: balding mountains, sun-dried, and scrubby;
basin of the Bay brimmed with a corona of dirty air;
hectic patterns of sub-divisions, cities, and freeways;
in the rusty grass along the tarmac, tattered plastic
bags that look uncannily like graft-ready human skin.

The plane touches down. Still peering out the window,
I marvel and shake my head, then laugh. What can explain
how glad I am to be back in California, how much I love
this intense, hard-driving, opposite, green/ungreen place,
this totally other place I also call home?

Ann Keiffer/September 2012
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About Ann

I am interested in the strange beauty of brokenness, in transforming possibility in difficult times, in how we heal even when we can’t get better, in the alchemy of surrender, in the interplay of light and shadow, in the bounty of everyday wonders, in the gift of laughter…and writing about it, all and everything.

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