Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota
Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year's horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.
If you cut out the entire poem but left the title and the last line, I'd be in love.
Deborah Landau, Zach Miller, and Matthew Zapruder read
7pm at Teachers & Writers Collaborative
(520 8th Ave, suite 2020)
Free and followed by wine and cheese
Another option for Thursday night:
Hillary Raphael and Donari Braxton at Spoonbill & Sugartown Books
218 Bedford Avenue (Bedford Ave. at N. 5th, adjacent to the “Verb Café”)
I have a poem up at Realpoetik so check it out: http://realpoetik.blogspot.com/
I've slept curled up on my (right) side, ball-like, for the last 25 years. Why this summer has my sleeping position suddenly changed? I wake up on my belly and I don't like it. Was it the heat? Maybe autumn will right the world again.
Last year I managed to stay in the city and miss this:
As autumn is truly one of the more stunning changes to witness, I'm determined not to miss it this year. Less city more leaves. I also missed apple-picking season. Which means you've missed out on some damn fine apple pie. I've got a few field trips up my sleeves.