Thursday February 03, 2011

A thin snowdrift has taken refuge on the porch, covering all but the outermost foot. My old broom sheds pieces of straw with every pass.

6 Comments


  1. Dave:

    Thought I would share this one with you:

    A golden crowned kinglet,
    dangles upside down on the hemlock branch
    like a forgotten holiday ornament.
    How does he stay warm ?

    not any particular form ‘ just poetic words dancing through my head. Keep an eye out for kinglets, this is the first golden I have ever seen. I told him he should go visit your porch. : )


    1. Nice sighting! I wonder that a lot, about all the small birds. A combination of constant shivering, constant eating, and puffing out the feathers, I guess, and at night they lower their matabolisms somehow. I’ve heard that it can be fatal to a small bird to be aroused from sleep on a very cold night. (Don’t quote me on that.)


  2. Spell

    With every pass, the old broom sheds
    pieces of straw. Across the porch,
    a covering of snow. Chop wood,
    carry water, kindle fire.
    Remember the charm that pulled
    the town back from under
    a river of bubbling porridge–
    At the edge of the wood the girl
    twirls in her skirt of feathers:
    ruby-red, pomegranate-red,
    calling out danger.

    – Luisa A. Igloria
    02 03 2011


    1. I figured that broom reference would spark something interesting!



  3. THE BROOM

    Something about a broom in a closet’s nook
    tells all there is to know about cleansing:
    cobwebs, mud, guck, refuse gathered
    in crannies where we did not expect
    to find them, tripping saints and sinners
    into a kind of meaning where there is none.

    Dirt gathers, envelopes us into cocoons
    of guilt and loneliness, and we spend
    our lives dusting it off houses better off
    without porches, until we begin to accept
    how each anguished or angry swipe
    simply means a shredding of straw
    with every futile pass.

    On some porch covered by snowdrift,
    we will always find a broom shorn
    of its straw, its handle wrapped
    in dingy rags, leaning against a post
    like a toothless scarecrow. Looking scared.

    —ALBERT B. CASUGA
    Mississauga, Ontario 2-3-11

    Dave,
    Could not access Porch this morning. But I am back. Albert

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