It’s not enough the neighbor cat climbs it, or pauses. If I thought to lay out milk, we’d be friends. But for the poured concrete
my yard is of the lush rest of growth, wisteria and the choking grape, the late
surprise-lily erupting like night lava from space,
kudzu, a word reminding me of war words, fubar, which it is. & the like. & is how we know seasons. Which explains
the possum ignoring mute hummingbirds slurping the Rose of Sharon dry, wingbeats a blur, this world not helping but be close,
the soft silent whisper of teeth & nails.
Seasonal Affective Disorder
The twenty-fifth of the first month was the last snow to fall for the next seventy odd years. The mayors & clerks looked up to revise the world’s history to a legend of cold hope to catch unawares the too much to do forever: boiling men out of their glaciers for quizzes, crosswords, lobbing grapefruits while honing lost friends, skiing on bones of bears, using herringbones to turn under the overhang of aspens careening to the bottom in all that friction. The incline of those days was back and forth. Everyone swung their time to other hobbies, teeter-totters in the gray playground and cells ringing across the cosmos. All the jackets got hung up on hat racks. Flip flops became the rage, from woven grass to neon platform. Because the season bore no sign post & calendars shifted according to the politics of whim, every kind of –crat & –ist sat by as the moon took up its position on the sea. Call them clouds of what’s flown by and say that next year the mouth of the universe will be in a quiet child on a shady foot path. See if then its yawn is not enough to warrant some yellow grin in the coming of alien suns.
La Scala Busker
Two strains of violin interlope against fans
of ash leaves, the blue night turning to root, to up,
to the heart’s penultimate beat and that withheld in
definitely, resolution the natural resonant.
I can’t not envelop the world but the unlikely
-- Marcel Brouwers lives and works in Knoxville, TN. His chapbook, The Rose Industrial Complex, was published in 2009 by Finishing Line Press. He has had poems published in Kestrel, DIAGRAM, Pebble Lake Review, The Chariton Review, Pisgah Review, and others.