Today's poem is by Betsey Houghton
Out on the lake, a groan of ice plays
sweet as a cello, a glacial frottage
of bow and string, ice block on ice. . .
a language like whale song
observations, perhaps, or questions
zinging ice-fingered under my skates.
And back home, the just-stacked
woodpile ticks with the shrinkage
of cellulose, itching of rodent nails
a hundred-fold multiplied as firewood
dries cell burst by cell burst.
The cat knows it's not mice I hear:
it's the backs of new-split logs cracking.
Earth is a roar like the ultrasound
of a heart. Listen: airbourne laughter,
echoes of old sitcoms stretto of Lucy
and Ricky; of fire trucks and air horns;
even the unvoiced fricatives and labials
of speech, the pops and breaths of kisses.
Nothing is lost in the cooling of epoch
or season except that our symphony
of want will go, if it goes, unspoken.
Copyright © 2005 Betsey Houghton All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved