Cooper Young: California Poets Part 9, Four Poems

Cooper Young

December 22nd, 2025

California Poets: Part IX

Cooper Young

Four Poems

I Study Mathematics in Santa Barbara

The days grow shorter

while the deep green hues

of the ginkgos fade.

My professor says

mathematics isn’t

behind everything. It is

everything. The earth’s

tilt of 23.5 degrees

drags the sunlight lower until

the trees can no longer

sustain their color.

Last night, a storm

stripped the ginkgos

and left a puddle

of yellow leaves

on the sidewalk. Every

splash of color is a miracle

of probability. No tree

will ever look like this

again. Each branch

splits into two more.

The twigs grow

with recursion.

The funny thing

about fractals is that

they are broken

yet endlessly whole.

The Moon Rocks at Night

We follow the familiar trail

along the sandstone moonscape

until we reach our favorite view.

Before us, ten miles of redwoods

give way to the ocean. The water

stretches further still, until it blends

into sky. Clouds glide

on a silent wind, passing across

the full moon. We lean against

the soft rock, and you trace carvings

in the sandstone: names of strangers,

a peace sign, and an outline of California.

Our initials lie somewhere nearby,

etched inside a heart. Our second kiss

was on these boulders, nervous,

mischievous, and brief under a dark sky.

We’ve enjoyed many full moons together

since then, and in the pale light

we share our next kiss, and our next.

The dipper, slanted in the sky,

looks ready to plunge into the sea.

The Fishermen of Krabi

A flock of brown-headed gulls

fly low over the choppy water,

looking for a place to rest.

The sun tiptoes the horizon,

and the townspeople watch

until it dips below the ocean.

Fishermen turn on their lights

to attract squid

that follow the glow.

West winds beat

against the tide, rocking

the large, rusted boats.

The fishermen’s wives

wait at home, slicing cilantro,

basil, and shallots

for a salad. They halve

fresh limes and squeeze them

over the greens, which are tossed

with a thick peanut sauce.

When the fishermen return

with their haul, they will grill

calamari and serve it with garlic.

Families will feast

around marble tables,

and play checkers with bottle caps.

The men will sleep with beer

in their bellies,

and tomorrow they will

once again set out to sea.

In the Santa Cruz Mountains

Night comes early when the sun

passes behind the ridge. The shadows

of redwoods consume all color.

My father tells me, “In the mountains,

something is always trying to kill you.”

Wildfires sweep through the valley,

and when it storms, trees bow

to the wind, and we are at the mercy

of widowmakers above our home.

Eventually, the hill beneath our house

will succumb to gravity and fail us too.

The soil will slough down the mountain,

and the house will tumble with it.

A marble on the kitchen counter already

rolls downhill. Yesterday, I found

new cracks by the pond. The water

hasn’t leaked yet, and beneath the lily pads,

koi trace the edges of their home.

Author Bio:

Cooper Young is a cyber security expert, poet, and mathematician who hails from Santa Cruz, California. His most recent work has appeared in the California Quarterly, Urthona, Hawai'i Pacific Review, and Shō Poetry Journal. His chapbook, Sacred Grounds, was published by Finishing Line Press in May 2020. Cooper's first book, Here We Were Happy, won the Homebound Poetry Prize and is forthcoming from Wayfarer Books. More information can be found at coopergyoung.com.