Crows dig in the cottonwoods
while tall millet still stands
on the river bank. Everything
hurts. Dreams have hooks,
they pull me, though the sun
is high and shines on this page.
Yesterday and already this
morning I feel rage and impatience
just below the surface and know
I must take care with the animals
and not be angry with those who
are innocent. When we turn back
and I see my house at the end
of this long block, it seems
far. The neighbors' house is roofed
and shingled; the workers move
inside. Someone tells me I write
about coyotes and sighs. I know
one well, and I know the other is not
to be trusted. Two squirrels share
the seed I scattered for birds. Rose
cane shadows stripe the wings
of the bronze eagle. Shall we cross
this water by bridge or by boat?
--
Sharon Brogan
http://www.sbpoet.co
|