550: Dipping into the veins of some contemporary poets

10 April 2007

Komunyakaa on the brain for this one, particularly his “Ode to the Maggot.”

Ode to the Calendar

Cousin of the wristwatch
and maple; you decree order.
Deaf hedonists and sloths ignore
while obedient slaves kneel

to your prophecies. Neglect
in turning your scales will not
reverse rings, erase lines,
summon rain out of season,

enact or subvert justice.
Perpetually March 19th, a mirage
fooling no one. You lie not of your
will but of my forgetfulness.

The truth is underneath, inside.
Ambassador of time yet
Insensitive to its verdicts.
False now; to the future,

never; historian and oracle
but dumb you are; numbers ceaselessly
parade across your skin. Even were you
not forged from kin, time’s law

writes itself
on her, on all.


Inspired by William Stafford’s “Traveling Through the Dark.”

Walking to School

After cereal on the false cherry
table, I herd the children out of the door, pulling
on hats and backpacks. To their myriad questions
I have no answers, but still I search for words to satisfy.

Meanwhile, they have moved on to the next puddle.
The mud is thin and grey under a cloudy sky. A water main burst
yesterday next to the creek; it rained last night.
Lamme Street is still barricaded.

Uniformed men sweep away evidence of the failure.
The water department using more water, from hoses
this time, to clean up the mess of pipes, creek,
and rain united with soil, grass, and hedge.

The boys’ only interest is checking that the hole is filled,
while I stand before crossing the street. Did the tamed city water
and wild streams meet again or did the quarantine hold.
Was there joyful reunion, triumph, or suspicion, fear of contamination?

The sky holds no prejudice – all mingle there now.
Soon it will rain.