When the sky decides to marry
the earth, it will be winter. The snow
will be the rice thrown
by heaven's congregation of onlookers, angels
casting their trumpets aside
to sprinkle handfuls below. Snow
is silent this way; the summer thunderstorms
are brass instruments, the lower notes
vibrating the windows of every house.
It is understood that summer
is a woman demanding a divorce, the earth
a lazy man turning his back
towards the static-filled television set
of the sun. You must stay inside
those days, avoid trees.
They are hairs split
by crooked, strangle-shaped fingers
we confuse for lightning.
William Soule, Utah, USA
3 comments:
William Soule is a Filipino-American poet from Utah. He's had poems published in Tattoo Highway, the delinquent, elimae, and Alba: A Journal of Short Poetry, among others, and edits his own online magazine, Clearfield Review. He also plays the drums, advocates holistic nutrition, and raises his surrogate child: a pit bull named Bronē.
Such beautiful imagery in this poem! It reminds me of the wonderful Indian (Native American) folk tales I loved to read as a child.
"It is understood that summer is a woman demanding a divorce, the earth a lazy man turning his back towards the static-filled television set of the sun,"
for want of better words: wow. this is a great poem. i truly enjoyed it.
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