Table of |
FARMERS AND DOVE
When sunlight hits the higher points
and lower places are still in shadow,
two farmers harvest corn together.
One drives a pickup truck,
while the other follows alongside,
stripping ears off stalks
and tossing them into the truck bed.
On a telephone wire above the farmers,
a mourning dove coos for what’s lost,
for some unspecified thing that’s missing
The calls aren’t sad for the dove;
only for those who are listening,
for those of us who know what’s missing.
The sounds of the bird remind us.
Early in the morning,
I hear what sounds like a sea lion.
Anywhere else, I wouldn’t know
what a sea lion sounds like,
but I was out on the bay yesterday
and heard Pacific seals barking as they basked.
I wonder if these early-morning cries
have come across the water
and echoed off a building,
so I walk to an open alley
and look out at the dark ocean,
but the noises don’t come again.
Later, in my home city, I hear what I think
may be the barking of a seal.
It is not a dog; it is too melodious.
But there are no seals here.
I have never seen a seal in the Atlantic.
But my question is moot.
The sound I hear is coming from swing set.
A child is swinging. The swing chain
is rubbing against its metal anchor.
The Golden Calf
As the pendulum swings
to the far right,
the war on words escalates.
The first amendment goes on trial,
gives rise to the golden calf.
Money and machinations feed the calf,
manipulate the masses
to see with hollowed eyes,
chant his gilded creed.
His promise for rose gardens
pierce the fruited plain with thorns.
From sea to shining sea,
flags bleed at half-mast,
as spacious skies over schoolyards
turn blood orange.
Tattered feathers of an eagle
float in poisoned water,
as the earth burns
the amber waves of grain,
and the purple mountains,
fall like alabaster towers.
Thoughts and Prayers
As the NRA
nails another bullet
in a child’s coffin,
he who pulls the trigger
your thoughts and prayers.
©Patricia Carragon: Cat by the Window