Monday, July 17, 2017

In my book, "To See Who's There." It will be out in the world any minute

Martin Johnson Heade, Magnolias on Gold Cloth, 1880-90

the first to open all, poised ten feet above our fuss.
As far as she’s concerned … well, she’s not, is she?
Her splendor cows me.
On this Tuesday morning I feel aged, dry, critical, although
I’ve used my potions.
Lousy sleep. Awake at 4 a.m., 5, 5:30. Sweaty.
And I feel short.
Arrogant” comes to us via Old French from Latin— 'claiming for oneself',
from the verb arrogare.
Soon the fraying, browning, finishing. Disarray happens.
An old record plays. Mother and nuns scolding:
No one likes a complainer.”
Wipe that look off.”
Jesus suffered.”
My sweet dog’s done her business and here is the poor bloom (soon to die) again.
The magnolia deflects my murky sensibility. Flowers, leaves, trunks, weeds, grass—
all of it—brushes me off. Of course.
Home and somewhat smoothed, despite the visit from my scolds,
despite the niggling moans from death.


Mathew Paust said...

"And I feel short." Humor, the saving grace. The poem is alive!

Ruby Jo Faust said...

I agree with Matthew. In many of your poems there is an arresting phrase or detail that communicates humility as well as humor and fun. It is like your casual self-deprecation that always makes me want to hug you when we are together.

Elizabeth said...

There is so much I love in this poem. I especially enjoyed the line breaks.
Do you have a new book of poetry out?