Here’s the latest installment of Poet’s Corner, presented by the Edmonds-based EPIC Poetry Group.
He cut down those looming trees
bound to doom him with their danger.
Larger than his mansion, he imagines
they could flatten him in any wind.
When wind advisories raged
he booked a room in a hotel.
When rain abused the creek
with rapids, he flew to L.A.
He begged his neighbors to replace
their firs with pink azaleas.
He stormed city commissioners
with seven years of pleas for permits.
Finally, he wrangled dispensation
to weed the strongest lumber from the grove.
Now renters scrutinize his barren home
from newly exposed balconies next door.
Future storms can’t crush him but
the water roots don’t sip won’t climb up
trunks and phantom limbs to peacefully transpire.
Instead, flooding shudders through the yard.
Loose in the mud, the younger evergreens,
skinny and abandoned, weave about
to catapult and topple through
the shaken roof of his garage.
~ ~ ~ ~
just a moody hint of what glows elsewhere,
the new moon hides its fullness in its pocket
and we are forced to guess the full strength of its watch.
a pearl lodged deep in its setting
glimmers alone, concealed in a deep drawer
that opens nightly bit by bit.
an empty cup held whole but unfulfilled
soars black against the matching shadows
flung across a void to dawn, a puff
of simultaneous young/ancient dust
forming its brief white smile due soon
to arch from on high into heart.
4 quarters of the moon begun anew:
ventricular and atrial pumping tides
thumping full the wax and waning pulse.
with its round dime
slipped to the side, the moon
slots into its silver quarter
or new and gone
invisibly stirring the life of seeds
traipsing like a vagabond
she has started something –
always somewhere else:
now vanished behind the cloud’s ear
then erupting white as a dove sailing,
coins hidden in her sleeve
trailed across the water
the moon pulls her tricks on us
following and peering down with floods of light
that sometimes only entertain the caps of clouds
silently infringing on our private nights
with daily different tides and then
the surprise visitation by day
the whole coming and going ready to play
out again – but here we stay,
stuck in the new moon phase
stored away, smothered in the cotton
sheets, the sleep of hibernation,
the whole world closed until the day
of vaccination when
the sharp shot shoots us
back to life like magic.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristina Stapleton is weathering the pandemic in Edmonds with her husband Billy. She shares her secret life through her poetry, most recently with the EPIC poetry group and Western Friend magazine. She is retired from her work with autistic and special needs children and now edits the newsletter for Salmon Bay Friends Meeting.