These are poems that aim at reflecting something uniquely American in experience. Be it a place. Or a person or an experience. It had to happen somewhere to become something.
Mr. Robins
Takes a bath
He’s not concerned with math
Except perhaps
To count their eggs
Or later how many mouths they’ve fed
But today he’s just getting clean
A deep splash
And shake
Sending water splattering
He takes this
“Bird bath”
Seriously
He pays no mind to you and me.
…
Not until the dog comes out
Does Mr. Robins
Give a shout
No, now that he
Is clean all through
Fly to the nest’s
Alls left to do.
The geraniums
I brought in to
Stave off frosted night
Red and white
Fireworks
Bursting in the morning light
Can the moon see my fire
As it passes over head
Both alight my night
And stave off the dread
Of all those things out
In the the darkness of all
Those things we cannot see
But if the moon can see my fire
I’ll spend the night outwardly
Turning the dirt
With Great-Grand-Daddy’s plow
Sharecropper’s till
Real familiar somehow
Making quick work
Of my little garden plot
He’d make an acre
Into food they never bought
Traded with the Osage
When he had a good crop
But it never really seems
Like my efforts pay out full
Maybe this year’s different
Using my ancestral tool
Fragile
[boxes]
Bounded up
De-coupling—
Social
Distancing—
Uncomfortable
Pauses
As to what
Qualifies
As normal.
Needing
Canned
Laughter
for
Comfort
Food.
Yearning
Clamshells
Open slow
With a
Lazy
Yawning
Frond
Unwound
Reaching
Tendrils
Unfurled
Revealing
Future
Colors
Of long
Summer’s Day.
“We want to be
More than the tree.
A melody
For you
We sing and sing
Always hoping
Your Love to ring
As true…
Please, please sing back!
Tell where you’re at —
Let our song
Be for two.”
Lockdown
Quarantine
“Keep the door shut.”
Practice
“Social distancing”
Do not touch!
Wash your
Hands for
Twenty seconds
Swab and
Daub and Wipe
down surfaces!
Don’t forget
Don’t touch
Your Faces!
Though we
Won’t need
No toilet paper
For one
Or two
Weeks more
It doesn’t
really matter
‘Cause there’s none left
At
The
Store
A bird
A bird
A bird has rhythm
Listen
Listen
Listen closely — To hear
If you
If you
Listen closely
A whole
New Lang-
uage will appear
Repeat
Repeat
The melody
The beat
The beat
Is very clear
The words
The words
These Words may not matter
The music
The music
Is more than a mirror
She was
A sweet
A sweet blue bird
Named “Happy”
She would even
let you hold her
Her Eggs
Were aquamarine
With golden yolks
American
Ameraucana
“The Easter Egger”
Though she
Stopped producing
Early in life
She was
Well regarded
By the Garden Club.
RIP