|Oct/Nov 2015 Poetry|
Image courtesy of NASA and the University of Arizona
I'm writing this day down on
my yellow notebook paper
that normally holds work
information that I love to tear up.
I wouldn't tear up today. After slogs
through rain and sweat, today
is better than a peanut butter cup,
better than beating my dad at ping pong,
better than Tommy James and the Shondells
on their Gettin' Together album.
A gray hummingbird came to visit—
not us, but our feeder.
The coral gypsy dahlia, pink red,
startled. The dictionary should put
its picture in place of a worded
definition for splendid.
We air out the house,
let in bird chirps and a breeze
like a friend's subtle tap on the shoulder.
July heat will barge back in.
Mosquitoes sharpen their points.
It's now. It's brief.
No use to hold it. Or desire to.
Wandawoowoo's Star Hook
I grew up, kind of,
or I got taller and heavier.
I also grew down, stuck my nose
close to the ground,
heard a birch tree's heartbeat,
the snuffling of a worm bending
around a pebble. Sometimes
I worship science, a god
I don't get. Time weirds out
in a black hole, like turning
a cherry bellflower upside down.
I teeter at the event horizon, dis-
appear with light. I've often lived
in reverse, the odds against me,
looking for a star hook
to hang my scarf on.