Issue 7:
Sky
Janet I. Buck
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Meant Debris
A hummingbird of graceful greed
picks at cornbread crumbling
inside a final summer rose.
A subtle rape, a foraging,
a goodbye kiss for innocence.
Wind is waiting silently for leaves
to drop their wrinkled palms.
Flower beds turn porcupines.
I cease routines of watering
this color's wish,
tug at dry alyssum sprigs,
pull sweaters from a bottom drawer.
Moth balls smother lavender.
Flies are tired and swattable;
bee nests hang by sugared thread.
Heat is leading harvest curve.
This renaissance has time to think
as trees grow bare.
I make a pact with destiny.
Do not let this calendar
proceed or waltz or pirouette,
blink its dust or point its toes,
without my gathered willingness.
This meant debris, this reckoning
lathering the aureole
above a city's pepper pile.
Be the art that lives its word.
Hand a rainbow to the storm.
~Janet I. Buck
Janet teaches writing and literature at the college level. Her poetry appears in hundreds of publications online and in print. Visit her website for information on her CDs, books, readings, and appearances. Email.
© 2001 by Janet I. Buck. All Rights Reserved.
© 2000-2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated April 30, 2002.