Saturday, May 14, 2016

Weekly Worded

            Not What You Eat

You are not
a frozen pizza
waiting in a dark freezer

to be warmed,
nor are you a bowl
of granola,

a grilled chicken breast,
or a potato
twice baked.

You are light waiting
for the right moment
to be visible,

an eddy in a wide
stretch of water,
a breeze

kicking up a devil
of dust before
fading away.

Friday, May 13, 2016

Weekly Worded


Eagle sits
on her perch, not grand
as an aerie but more
like a porch

at the top
of a dead cottonwood,
surveying the field below.
Cows ruminating

on patches of green,
dog chasing its tail.
Foolish man
shoveling dirt.

Eagle sits,
her circle of light
like water

her white head
swivels, yellow beak
like a crooked finger --
Come to me...

or wait,
I will come to you.

Friday, May 6, 2016

Weekly Worded

           Fight or Flight

Gray like the gravel,
four eggs cached in the driveway
beside the tiny red marker I’ve placed.
The plastic flag flutters in a gust
of spring while the killdeer shrieks,
flopping one wing open
as if she’s crippled:
Come and get me she taunts,
I’m helpless, I can’t fly.
It’s a ruse. I’ve seen it before,
just walking to the mailbox,
but what I haven’t seen recently
is her eggs, cloaked in invisibility
like alien pods from a stealthy bird-ship
circling above the newly budded trees.
I stoop, the mother scolds me again,
a cloud slips away from the sun
and the eggs materialize
like four perfect jewels,
sparkling and speckled, so obsessively
polished by this feathered breast
that stands at the precipice
of instinct, uncertain what comes next.