Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Twenty-five Spring 2011 |
Contemplation with Borrowed Tent Jeff Gundy Where did the birds go when the wind put their little nest down-side up in the low blueberries? Had they left already? I want to think they need no single home, that when they tire they settle anywhere and then sail off in their dreamboats to no place I can name. But my friends all know I’m often wrong, I think everything will work out just because I don’t want to fix it myself. I don’t even know the time but I’m weary, I hope to sleep tonight, my borrowed bag is waiting in my borrowed tent and I am not a bird, I want a home however frail, however temporary. On the far shore just above the trees is a lens of open sky like the entrance to paradise, like the doorway to the dream I had last night when I didn’t even think I was sleeping. And the fresh wood I had piled on the fire cracked at last and broke into flame. |
About Jeff Gundy |