Saline waters of the Bay recede
when Benicia
sends her tides to sea with mountain water
in their sweetened waves to bless the iron ships that pass.

Benicia dips her flowered hair
to scent the breeze
that wafts our wetland birds between the fingers
of her hands, back to
their huddled nests again.
She walks the streets
of her estate
and from the Clocktower’s peak
observes, landscape pressed
from fertile ground
sprouting gardens of delight.
Her laughter echoes
steeple bells
it paints the hills in colored tones.
Reflecting rays of hope that bring a light
into our storied homes.

Frances Jackson-Patrick is a member of Benicia’s First Tuesday Poetry Group

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