Snapshot 13 July 02005

I wake in pain, enter this day in pain. Young
osprey circle above the swallows. A man
in the park paces under the trees, swinging
a metal detector. The tables have been moved
together into one open space; a herd of picnic
tables, green on the green grass. Heat. Bees
hum in the foxglove. This garden is tired. Rose
petals litter the ground. The lilies open,
beautifully. Why do they not move me?
Why is my heart not pierced?

Comments

[Dave]

I love this. Come to think of it, I don't remember a "snapshot" poem of yours i haven't liked. You should consider putting together a collection of them sometime.

[SB]

Yes, I should -- you are not the first to suggest it, and now I must have a year's worth -- especially if I fold in a few that weren't specifically written as "snapshots."

I did find something awhile back -- lucy? lili? -- something that starts with "L" -- that seemed like a good option for publishing.

Thanks for the reminder. I shall put my mind to it.

Soon.

[Dave]

Even just a PDF would be great. (But a book or chapbook I could hold in my hands and put on my shelf would be ideal, of course.) If you need a critical reader at some point, please don't hesitate to ask.