Monday December 20, 2010

A flurry reveals the secret weavings of the wind, spreads a shroud over the porch, and litters my propped-up legs with cryptic asterisks.

6 Comments


    1. Thanks! I was grateful for my faded black jeans, which are so unhelpful when it comes to spotting ticks in warmer weather.


  1. There’s one cold note in the air
    and its blues have found me again–

    Too late to pull up the remaining stalks
    of summer’s last tomato plants, tamped

    hard into the ground. Now thistles
    shrivel in a brittle wreath,

    and the rose is ravished by the wind;
    it spreads a shroud over the porch

    and litters it with cryptic asterisks,
    with carets, with upended tarots.

    What shall I do with you,
    yellowed gingko leaf;

    with these tickets of faded red,
    torn from the geranium?

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    12 20 2010


    1. That was quick! I especially like the opening stanza, but the whole poem is sonorous and full of grace. (Would “Grace Notes” be too much for a title?)


  2. Hm, while I like the idea of “Grace Notes” by itself, perhaps not for this poem…
    Let me noodle on it a little more.


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