Cotton mouthed, hung over, I wake up in my sooty dress
somehow ashamed to be seen in the utter waste
of daylight. The barbecue with all those mint juleps
on the verandah was intense but I strayed too long on the edge
of a glass. I long for a quiet train trestle, wood and paint
chipping off, not those city lights where I am one of millions.
I'm not fooled by the low murmurings of the river,
cattails to luxuriate in, but danger in the deep-throated
baritone of frogs. Damselflies are entirely self-involved
and bossy, known to eat out of their own behinds. Never mind,
there's safety in numbers. A neighbor has an easy split
in a porch screen and as I'm on a tear of wild nights
before I die, I've set my sights on their cathedral ceiling.
In the sway of tall grasses his youngest cups her hands
around me to pray. I am coveted in the moist chapel of fingers.
Tonight, I'll hang around until they are all half lidded-drowsy.
I'll skitter down to her favorite blanket where she'll wish
upon me like I am the last star falling, the last creature on earth.
Speaking of Firefly
-
Poem: Collecting Fireflies
May 1, 2014 -
Poem: Observation
Oct 28, 2011 - More »
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