Maddy Douglass

Knitter, lawyer, and safer beauty advocate in San Francisco. 

Loves coffee, crafting, and cheese plates.  


Leaves fall Green here

I come from roads and avenues where streetlamps dot the way, like kissed freckles on a child's arm.

I come from where leaves fall in summer and only the sun belies the West Coast scene.

I come from the place where machines took over, the chips and bits and bytes leading people by the nose until dollar signs flashed in place of their souls.
They're not all like that; just ask the scapegoats the underlings the bitter coffee fetchers.

I come from where you need to make something of yourself or be nothing,
no middle ground for those who flounder along the shoreline, looking for their life raft, the men in red buoys.

I come from somewhere so different from where I am it's mind boggling
where people are wealthy instead of rich
where people recall their roots to propel them forward, further away from humble beginnings and small town memories.
I come from where people still have small town memories.

I come from my mother's womb, her mother's womb, the barrel of the ship they took here when ships were still the only way to fly
from Polish terra firm to reside by the lake in Michigan and finally
to this city named for Tall Trees

I come from brown haired parents and a light skinned heritage.
I come from a stepfather who is kind and a stepmother who isn't.
I come from two Xs and no Ys.
I come from no Why?s
from parents who only asked why when they could not read us, like the books I read under the table at dinner
I come from books read under the table at dinner.

I come from the land they discovered last, the mountains protecting the deep blue Pacific like a diamond in the rough.

I come from the California blood gold that killed many and thrilled few
from the miners whose hopes grew and fell with some water and a tin pan and the shiny glint of broken glass. We all do.
We still do.
Still those hopes in a tin pan and broken glass shining in the water from the Bay.

I come from where the leaves fall green in summer and streetlamps dot the way.

(college poetry seminar, spring 2007)

Better than a lump of coal

Learning about the "Statement Nail"