October 2015
I am a Quaker, organic gardener, visual artist of paper cutouts, and a retired librarian. When I was a child, I worked on my Amish/Mennonite grandparents' farm during the summers — using old time equipment such as gravity-fed buzz saws; I also did blacksmithing and I painted hex signs. Over the years I worked for Habitat For Humanity building houses; I finished my 100th construction two years ago, and now, at 67, I am still at it — tiring out the 20-year-old volunteers. My forthcoming collections include How to Be Silent (FutureCycle Press), God Is Not Amused With What You Are Doing In Her Name (Aldrich Press), and Dylan Thomas and the Writer’s Shed (Future/Cycle Press).
Pirate Map To Treasure
If I followed it to all corners, over
triangles for mountains, wavy lines
for water, no compass guiding me,
at the edge would be a sea serpent
blowing hurricanes to the opposite side
where trolls would eat the lost for supper.
If it was to scale, it could be nearby,
under my bed, green eyes glowing.
I never found that map, but I found you.
Fall
In Fall, asters wither and spiral petals down.
The hot season dwindles towards quiet hours.
Air is more brittle, weather reports more useless.
Night uses a rag to polish the full harvest moon.
Crickets go silent, turning their back on the world.
The over-heated days are over.
Men wearing bright orange hunting vests
enter the woods communally to weed
the overgrown deer population.
Their rifles and shotguns point down like dousers
searching for deer spore. They could care less
if it’s out of season. Impatience chills the air.
Fireflies
Firefly or Lightning Bug (Photuris lucicrescens) is in the beetle family
Miniscule lights are signaling in the back yard,
suns going strangely dark, so many of them,
I could not count the sum. I hammered penny nails
into metal tops of glass jars to make air-holes,
ran out into the backyard to capture some to study.
I admired the yellow light from their lower abdomen.
In the morning, they would be dead regardless
what I did or did not do. I felt guilty. Still do.
Now the light turns cold in the abdomen of guilt.
Nails make holes in the dark
offering heartbeats of light.
If I followed it to all corners, over
triangles for mountains, wavy lines
for water, no compass guiding me,
at the edge would be a sea serpent
blowing hurricanes to the opposite side
where trolls would eat the lost for supper.
If it was to scale, it could be nearby,
under my bed, green eyes glowing.
I never found that map, but I found you.
Fall
In Fall, asters wither and spiral petals down.
The hot season dwindles towards quiet hours.
Air is more brittle, weather reports more useless.
Night uses a rag to polish the full harvest moon.
Crickets go silent, turning their back on the world.
The over-heated days are over.
Men wearing bright orange hunting vests
enter the woods communally to weed
the overgrown deer population.
Their rifles and shotguns point down like dousers
searching for deer spore. They could care less
if it’s out of season. Impatience chills the air.
Fireflies
Firefly or Lightning Bug (Photuris lucicrescens) is in the beetle family
Miniscule lights are signaling in the back yard,
suns going strangely dark, so many of them,
I could not count the sum. I hammered penny nails
into metal tops of glass jars to make air-holes,
ran out into the backyard to capture some to study.
I admired the yellow light from their lower abdomen.
In the morning, they would be dead regardless
what I did or did not do. I felt guilty. Still do.
Now the light turns cold in the abdomen of guilt.
Nails make holes in the dark
offering heartbeats of light.
©2015 Martin Willitts Jr