Today is Open Mic night at Latte Time. I forgot until we were eating supper. I checked several books of poetry on my shelf, but couldn’t find anything with quite the proper feeling that I would want to read in front of everybody.
Meanwhile, Husband was sitting at my computer.
I thought he was doing some kind of Administrator code.
A couple minutes later, he laid a sheet of paper in front of me.
“Here, Read this tonight” he said.
November made good on its promise
to cool the Earth’s fevered brow
To draw more sharply the distinction
between body and world.
We thought of winter
of death, and urgency
of the contemplative arts
now that the lawn would rest from its tyranny
Leonid meteor showers poked holes
in the thought that our world
was bounded by the sky above
where had they been? These icy travellers.
We planned a feast,
we bundled up
In hushed tones nary a falling leaf
escaped the pull of gravity
Let it come!, November.
Let December follow
On the other side of Earth’s trackless orbit
we know, spring awaits, patiently.
~~George Wiman 2006
Turns out, there were so many good musicians at the shop that I just sat over in the corner and crocheted two bookmarks in Christmas colors.
I didn’t read anything out loud, so this is the world debut of a poem which seemed to just flow out of his fingers.
~~love and Huggs, Diane