Monday, January 18, 2010

April

The local deities, undecided: pelt them with ice
Or pour warm gold on them this afternoon? A little of both.
Inside, mere embers on my hearth gasped for rekindling,
So I stepped out to the woodpile—
But the glow on doug firs across the street stopped me,
Stunned me, drew my eyes higher—then
The bruised and livid sky drove out all thoughts,
Kindling or otherwise.
There I stood, chin in the air (am I already eccentric to my neighbors?)
When T pulled up. Good thing my friends
Understand me; it saves a lot of explaining.
Before twilight had rubbed all color from the sky, we had seeded
Snow peas, spinach, beets,
And when he left I trimmed out last spring's herbs,
Now mostly soggy naked stems.
But the wet dirt, lavender, thyme lay redolent on my hands.

3 Comments:

At 5:00 PM, Blogger Lisa Q said...

the image of you atop the wood pile conjures the likes of a masculine Maxfield Parrish Painting- standing poetically, face aglow- makes me smile as if I were one of your neighbors. :)

 
At 8:01 AM, Blogger rae ann said...

is this something you wrote last april or??

it painted the perfect visual. it was like i was back home with you again. xoxo

 
At 3:21 PM, Blogger Tim McLaughlin said...

roughed out a few years ago, only recently cast like this

 

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