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The Chainsaw (47)

Gentle, where the chainsaw Gouges the bark, Throwing thick chips, Ripping life asunder. I work in the cool December light To clear the year. Saplings sprung from pasture, So much life! There’s Nothing somnolent about The saw, no effete snoring, This hungry, smoking bastard. I grip it tenderly, Felling a black cherry, A box elder maple, A fork-branched mulberry. How [...]

By |December 23rd, 2019|Categories: Farm|2 Comments

December Brushstrokes (46)

Planets aren’t supposed to twinkle, But Venus, low on the horizon, Has wrapped itself in glittering glass, Sparkling a thumb’s width below Saturn. When the photo arrives in the mail From a distant cousin’s distant cousin, The old house looks little as it does now, Festooned with a milliner’s ivy hat. The old dog goes lame, and the X-rays Show [...]

By |December 9th, 2019|Categories: Farm|4 Comments

The Great Rush of Ivy (45)

The great rush of ivy Up the side of a sycamore— How far does it know to go? Red leaves, puddled before A stoppered storm drain, Barely moving in crystal water. The most fertile soil lies Between the highway and the field, Where the farmer can’t till. Have I spent a thousand lifetimes Learning to see the grass? I suspect [...]

By |December 2nd, 2019|Categories: Farm|0 Comments

Mythological Blue (44)

What a distraction, all these leaves— I can’t see a thing! Willow oaks shiver, aflame, Showering axial sparks. In Washington, Colorado Avenue Waits until Thanksgiving to blush Ruby, russet, bending the Algorithm of Instagram. Where does the sky go? Blue, blue! This is why Farm girls leave the gray Dairies of upstate New York, Suffering lobbyists, stuffed Olives, withered trails [...]

By |November 25th, 2019|Categories: Farm|1 Comment

Apology To A Wren (43)

To the wren I disturbed, Asleep in the porch eaves, Bundled snug beneath A November pumpkin moon, I’m sorry, little bird, To send you scrambling Against a white, wooden sky With frantic, futile resolve. You ignored the open squares Of night all around, As though you were blind To the darkness itself— Freedom too spacious, Too expansive, convinced that What [...]

By |November 18th, 2019|Categories: Farm|2 Comments

Harmless Regrets (42)

The Osage orange has been Losing its mind, Throwing brain-shaped fruits At passing cars, Painting the asphalt chartreuse. It happens each autumn, Days of harmless regrets— Gardens unplanted, mornings missed, Summer stored in sweater drawers. Along the lane, On a gate post, A squirrel has hung a walnut Hull, neatly as a cap on a peg. Its uncrushable shell, Broken [...]

By |November 11th, 2019|Categories: Farm|2 Comments
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