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