The Crawling Walls
They are simply plaster or sheetrock, these walls,
positively crawling with insects at times, but oh well –
That is life in the country.
My grandfather used to spit watermelon seeds into carpet
forcing grandmother to walk behind him, picking them up;
when he was done with the rind, he would chuck it out
the backdoor, then wonder why opossums came around,
the light reflecting in their savage little faces, vandals.
This caused him to start setting traps, while the lean-to shed
he built, filling it with soda cans to recycle, which attracted
a black snake, great household item had he not killed it
for its winding ebony intrusion.
The mother has rebuilt her nest outside in the flowerpot
After the storm came through and devoured her young,
She is so much like Job
When I first began my life, I had small scraps of feathers
I was ugly when I was naked
Soon, the muscles began to build a little, and my legs
Could hold my weight, and my attitude greatly improved
Now I can perch for hours and can also ululate, not afraid
to chirp on the front porch in the morning anymore.
the soldier enters the garden
Immediately, an ear finds its sliced
way to the primroses
a promise of rain
Immediately, an old man with grizzled
expression begins to build a mythic
grandmother with her gold-laced book
Immediately, she points to the portrait
of a Caucasian Christ on the wall
chanting and hu-hu-luing a hymn
strange music of cosmology.