Without Stars, Disaster
Julia Klatt Singer
We’ve been without them for over a
week, swimming in a fog so firmly set on staying, we wonder
if we should invite it in for a glass of
claret, a fine aged-cheese, olives & bitter chocolates.
It has you thinking about the Old
Testament. Pillars of Smoke, Trees of Life, wives turned to salt,
charming serpents, little boys with
slings, fighting giants. Love poems, psalms of sorrow & despair
& praise, prophets being fed by
ravens. I close my eyes & pretend I am Saul, feel the gravel
of the road, nibble my way home.
It is dusk, the fog is slumbering, thick upon the grass. Into the garden
we go, without stars to guide us, we
follow the scent of thyme, the piano drops of melting snow. You
a crimson bird, darting from branch to
branch & I, a solitary nude, so still you mistake me for stone.
to be published in Open to Interpretation: On Water, January 2012