Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Poetry Wednesday


There are holes
underneath the carpet, cut because I am planting trees
(you do not know this, but I am planting trees)
            under our house with loveinthefloorboards.
With love they will crash
up through the floorboards,
out through the ceiling and
into the sun.
We will hold hands through a leafy bed/
            make love with the branches between us
(trees are meant for houses)

Annnnnnnnnnnd, something not-mine that I love:

Home to Roost
by Kay Ryan

The chickens 
are circling and 
blotting out the 
day. The sun is 
bright, but the 
chickens are in 
the way. Yes, 
the sky is dark 
with chickens, 
dense with them. 
They turn and 
then they turn 
again. These 
are the chickens 
you let loose 
one at a time 
and small— 
various breeds. 
Now they have 
come home 
to roost—all 
the same kind 
at the same speed.

No comments:

Post a Comment