2010 :: Issue 7/Fall :: Solitude
Tonight
Theresa Williams
In the pond last spring,
a lone bluegill swam
among minnows.
::
Tonight the dog
lets out a low moan.
Sssh, it’s only the roof leaking.
::
Rainy tires
swish on Highway 6.
I have nowhere to go.
::
Remember the book
about insects, parents & god.
::
Outside on the bush,
a clump of blackberries
birds never found.
::
On my chair
a dead moth in tattered coat.
::
Dark cupcake
cools
on white napkin.
::
Wild things sleep
this rainy night
in a temple of weeds.
::
Is the mantis cold
in its cocoon
on the bare stalk?
::
More wood on the fire!
Oh, my hair smells of smoke.
::
Living & dying are one.
All is one.
::
Charred bones from
the trash pit
fashioned into chimes.
—click, click, click—
::
You can still sing
even if you can’t carry a tune.
::
Outside—
Dogprints in the mud.
How lucky.
::
We are the eyes
of the world.
::
Your bed is waiting.
::
What is in your pocket,
Antonio Machado.
Forgive me,
haven’t read you in so long.