Thursday, November 06, 2014

Thursday Poem - It's Monday morning

It's Monday morning,
mid-November, the world turned golden,
preserved in amber. I should be doing more
to save the planet—plant a tree, raise
a turbine, put solar panels on the roof
to grab the sun and bring it inside. Instead,
I’m sitting here scribbling, sitting on a wrought
iron chair, the air cold from last night’s frost,
the thin sunlight sinking into the ruined
Appalachians of my spine. I know it’s all
about to fall apart; the signs are everywhere.
But on this blue morning, the air bristling
with crickets and birdsong, I do the only thing
I can: put one word in front of the other,
and see what happens when they rub up against
each other. It might become something
that will burst into flame.

Barbara Crooker


Kameshwari said... much fuel for the day in these words.

Thursdays...I always look forward to the poem.

Shelley said...

What a lovely poem... thank you, as always, for sharing.

I took some cool photos of the moon tonight. Thinking of you, of course.