OntheWilderSide

teach me to sow and reap the shadow of the moon
foretell the interior weather by the clouds that passed behind
in relation to dawn and twilight tell me the hour I should write

teach me to prune
to gather my chorus of crimson spirits
I already have
one who begs me to remember the reader
a second who ridicules my laziness

I need
the blessed sweet of the vine
the welcome bite of raspberries
the shape of the unseen apple’s back still high in the branch

tell me the poem to pick
is this one ready for market
thumping it and listening for
ripeness
a hollow center

should I lie fallow for a season to cultivate my soil
I resolved to stop writing completely one New Year’s Eve, only to find a cord of new stanzas
stacked in my desk drawer by summer

this time I would simply stop carrying this little notebook
making napkins my leaves
begging pens off strangers
stop writing while somebody else reads out

I could visit the calculus of my past
read “Mad Farmer” poetry
learn to shoot pool
live in a reclining position for a season

most of all, teach me to prepare for the dry season

-isw

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