Respite
Loading the car for camping,
my stomach hollow
with joy and apprehension,
I knew
that if only I endured
for a few more hours
your crocodile rage
at our late departure,
the quantity of our equipment,
the age and condition of our car,
the weather, slow drivers, lost tent poles
and the general state of our being,
eventually
the constant hum of your anger
would be drowned out
by the crickets
and the wind
and for that one moment
you would be part of the circle,
not the fire
at its center.
This poem appeared previously in The Talking Stick
Offering
We shy away,
Deer in the ditch,
white tails arcing
graceful as we flee
the passing numen,
leaping away
from bright lights
and broad wheels.
Or maybe we stay quiet,
heads down,
grazing,
ignoring that flash
that has passed us by
before.
Some will stand frozen,
make a wrong step,
then, nicked and limping,
bleed into the woods.
But sometimes there is one
who runs headlong
to the road,
sacrificing everything
to get behind
that glass.
Shoveling Out
You've stayed away from the windows
unwilling to look at the yard
full of unfinished chores
and death
and then, overnight,
the snow,
a foot or more
a gift, a day
maybe two if you're lucky,
of clean white forgetting
until the mailman leaves you a note,
a reminder
that beauty is treacherous.
It is not until
you get out in it
and dig
pain singing
in every muscle
that you realize
the terrible weight.
Turbine
The invisible moves
through outstretched arms
spinning power
we harness and spend
forgetting
we were made
for flight.
Pavlovian
The bowl remains empty
but your voice still rings
just the same.
© Copyright LouAnn Shepard Muhm. All Rights Reserved.
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