Sky and ground are the same flat white. I hear my mother at her bird feeder yelling Go! Go! Go! Go! as a squirrel bounds over the icy crust.


  1. Vanishing Point

    “Look at the birds in the sky. They do not sow or reap
    or gather into barns…” ~ Matthew 6:26

    The sky and ground are the same
    flat white, as if for once the sights
    trained by the worm low in the ground
    and that of the bird dangling from a branch
    have merged with one another, and now
    there is no difference between earth
    and heaven, duty and desire. Your mother cheers
    the squirrel bounding over the icy crust; and mine,
    by text from thousands of miles away, reminds me
    of small creatures that do not glean or gather,
    and yet increase. In a book fallen open
    on my lap, a poet I’ve just met* has penned
    a song of sorry lovers, who’ve whispered
    “Take me. You know you want to.” In this world,
    how are we supposed to know how all these bridges
    connect to one another, why it is that some exact
    a toll while at others, the way seems clear as bright
    ribbons of space and light, merging with the horizon.

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    02 05 2011

    * Kelli Russell Agodon, “Song of the Sorry Lovers”, from Letters from the Emily Dickinson Room (White Pine, 2010)

    1. Great poem! (You realize, I hope, that in reality that wasn’t cheering but an enjoining to leave?)

      1. Would you rather change to “…your mother yells/ at the squirrel…” ???

        1. It’s fine either way, really — poetic license and all. Whichever you prefer.

  2. After a hectic conference and train ride, and still a beautiful poem! Super-poet, I say.

    1. I’ve given up trying to find apt descriptors for Luisa’s genius.

      1. Oh shush. Or… if you have nominating powers for one a’those MacArthur Genius grants, I won’t demur, hahaha!

        1. Alas, I do not. I’m nobody (he says, channelling Dickinson).

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