Tuesday, September 8, 2015

a poem for a dying thing

This poem is over a year old now. Happy birthday, poem. Today, I put some sunglasses on and there was a wasp crawling along their rim. I was glad.

Yellow Jacket Reprise
fourth wasp sting in three weeks
okay, i am listening
yellow tough
jacket love
and the cool green bitter soothe
as summer makes its last stand
take stock
step back
what has come to pass
and how and why
and if it was good or well
and what the cellar still needs.
this is the time we think to our future bellies
caring for our future selves like the most
delicate sprout coming out
of an acorn

this time reveals the delicateness of those oaken parts of ourselves
and the mightiness of our delicate places
in the yellowed shrivel of frost tipped fig i
see myself walking
through wingstem without end
in the relentless rains i’m made lazy and
clean and at peace and in motion and at rest.
pleasure and pain.
love and wasp.

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