Wednesday, April 22, 2020

by Luci Shaw

In time of drought, let us be
thankful for this very gentle rain,

a gift not to be disdained
though it is little and brief,

reaching no great depth, barely
kissing the leaves' lips. Think of it as

mercy. Other minor blessings may
show up—tweezers for splinters,

change for the parking meter,
a green light at the intersection,

a cool wind that lifts away summer's
suffocating heat. An apology after

a harsh comment. A word that opens
an unfinished poem like a key in a lock.
“Signs” by Luci Shaw from Eye of the Beholder. Paraclete Press © 2018.

Tuesday, April 21, 2020

Bring me the sunflower, let me plant it
in my field parched by the salt sea wind,
and let it show the blue reflecting sky
the yearning of its yellow face all day.

Dark things tend to brightness, bodies
die out in a flood of colors,
colors in music. So disappearing is
the destiny of destinies.

Bring me the plant that leads the way
to where blond transparencies
rise, and life as essence turns to haze;
bring me the sunflower crazed with light.

From Ossi di seppia (Cuttlefish Bones, 1925)
By Eugenio Montale, translated by Jonathan Galassi

Monday, April 13, 2020

Changing the Front Porch Light for Thanksgiving 
To balance there, again, in the early dark,
three rungs up on the old stepladder,
afraid to go any higher, it wobbles so—
to reach out and find the first set-screw
stripped of its thread, barely holding the lip
in place—to stretch even farther, twisting
the next one to break the rust, turning
the last with the tips of your fingers until
the white globe drops down smooth and round
in your hands, and you see inside a pool
of intermingled wings and bodies, so dry
it stirs beneath your breath. To watch them
flutter, again, across the grass, when you
climb down and shake them out in the wind.
by Jared Carter

Saturday, April 4, 2020

Meeting the Light Completely 
Even the long-beloved
was once
an unrecognized stranger.

Just so,
the chipped lip
of a blue-glazed cup,
blown field
of a yellow curtain,
might also,
flooding and falling,
ruin your heart.

A table painted with roses.
An empty clothesline.

Each time,
the found world surprises—
that is its nature.

And then
what is said by all lovers:
"What fools we were, not to have seen."
 by Jane Hirshfield  (Ledger: Poems, from Knopf, Inc.)

Friday, April 3, 2020

Hard Facts (Especially)
by Hayden Saunier
Most everything we're taught
is wrong.
Especially fixed rules
about small engine
repair in adverse
marine conditions,
walking on ice,
and anything
to do with people.
Especially our own
strange selves.
And so the door
to the ordinary miracle
swings open.

“Hard Facts (Especially)” by Hayden Saunier 
from How to Wear This Body. Terrapin Books © 2017.