Small Ode to My Ignorance

To wake, at this age, and realize how
Little one knows of so many things—
Who wouldn't feel a bit like a beast,
Concerned with its corner of pasture
Or a master's voice, and little besides?

I speak of the quotidian, the necessary,
The near-to-hand—not the esoterica
Of valences or the mason wasp,
But bridges, say, or the sun, plumbing,
Gluten, flight, the bowels, acoustics,
Wind, muscle. Money. Anything
Brought to me through cables.

I bat a big eye at these things, I low
At them, then drop my head back
In the bucket and feed.

Love, what does it mean when you ask
About roads and directions, something
So plain as time, and how it is we've
Arrived here and are somehow for each
Other, and all I can do for reply is rub
My head against you like the cat?
I'd like to claim my ignorance
Is the very source and ground of all
Hungers, all wanting, that it begins
Any answer I would make you,

But I can say only that I wear it
Like a bell. Whenever I move, whatever
I do, it clatters its summons—at which
The whole stark world of my unknowing
Assembles, right there, beyond me.

Copyright © 2007 Steven Reese All rights reserved
from Tar River Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission