The Crows of Wimberly Drive
There are other birds here.
But the crows of Wimberly Drive
stick to the shoulder
and casually scoot when I cruise by.
The crows of Wimberly Drive
hide their bluest feathers
and play piano in my dreams.
Sailor songs and cantatas.
And the crows or Wimberly Drive
mourn the mornings. I know.
They tell me so. I wave
to the crows of Wimberly Drive.
I love them because they don't mind.
The Way the Rain Softens the Edges of Everything
The sky, mottled with dark clouds, gives us
something to talk about.
The rain is closer now. I feel it in my bones.
You look out windows,
this ceremony of rain.
In the garden, peonies
bent towards the earth
leave a legend of petals.
How I Know
I look out the window and see
a field, trees and then
more houses. I think of you,
wherever you are,
wearing slippers, a cloud
of sadness, keys in hand,
ready. But there is something
stopping you, an absence
that wraps around your shoulders
like a worn coat. I'm not sure
how long I've been sitting here.
The dog whines. A red-tailed hawk
lands on the collapsed swing set
in the yard, head cocked,
looks straight at me.
Jim Zola has worked in a warehouse, as a security guard, in a bookstore, as a teacher for deaf children, as a toy designer for Fisher Price, and currently as a children's librarian. Published in many journals through the years, his publications include a chapbook--The One Hundred Bones of Weather (Blue Pitcher Press)-- and a full-length poetry collection--What Glorious Possibilities (Aldrich Press). He currently lives in Greensboro, NC.
Love the Crows, especially "hide their bluest feathersReplyDelete
and play piano in my dreams."