I don’t remember
how old I was,
seven or eight,
when I first felt the urge
to capture
an enchanted being.
I caught him
in the gentle grasses
of our side yard.
Cupped in my right hand
he waited –
his antennae receiving signals
from distant worlds,
his cold eyes
measuring the texture of my skin,
his armor sparkling
in the shadows of my fingers,
his legs akimbo.
An emerging spirit
opened my prison.
I held out my hand
as straight as a diving board.
The grasshopper sprang
with power and grace:
a green arc
of parabolic escape.
It never knew
what it left behind:
a bonfire in my chest,
a salty koan,
a certain point
I couldn’t hold onto.
Jim Howe, IL, USA
4 comments:
Jim says: I live in Woodstock, IL USA. I tutor at a community college and substitute teach in a local school district. The Rockford Review will publish my poem, "Cheap Wine Muse" in their next edition.
I like the line:
It never knew what it left behind.
Isn't that always the way with magic? It marks us in unimaginable ways.
what a gorgeous poem! thanks much!
Beautiful!
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