Talking to God on the
Seventh Day
You're not so sure about
this world?
Listen. Take another look:
Listen. Take another look:
the joyful
reckless
barking dogs, convinced of doom, hysterical,
or only proud to own the yard,
the block, the wind --
the raised welt of their voices
roughening your dreams.
barking dogs, convinced of doom, hysterical,
or only proud to own the yard,
the block, the wind --
the raised welt of their voices
roughening your dreams.
The new leaves slightly
bent, like
fingers on guitar,
rippling their chord of twigs --
and the still-bare
slingshot branches,
naked as the tails of rats,
liminal as roots.
fingers on guitar,
rippling their chord of twigs --
and the still-bare
slingshot branches,
naked as the tails of rats,
liminal as roots.
The squirrel crushed in the
road,
its tail still
waving, in the wind of
passing cars, a flag,
and the blackest of black crows,
breaching the body
with its surgeon beak --
its tail still
waving, in the wind of
passing cars, a flag,
and the blackest of black crows,
breaching the body
with its surgeon beak --
black needles of its feet so
pleased
with death,
which is also meat, and life.
Another squirrel, its rapid jaws
with death,
which is also meat, and life.
Another squirrel, its rapid jaws
muttering around a
nut:
My number not up yet not yet bub not yet --
My number not up yet not yet bub not yet --
Now tell me why you ever
thought
you could improve on this
you could improve on this
music, this
hunger.
~ Ruth L. Schwartz
~
(Edgewater)
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