December 2022
Bio Note: I continue to cover the South Shore region of Massachusetts for the Boston Globe, and work on short stories and novels along with poetry. After spending much of the late summer and autumn in Berkshire County, I'm working on a manuscript of seasonal poems called "October Light" and looking for a publisher.
On Learning I May Be Sick Again
How much of this will be forgotten,
the color of the walls, shape of the moon
when the specialist brings up
the word, considering
your history
I have not considered it a great deal
until the disturbing symptom
And, even then,
I assumed a simpler pathway forward,
following a routine test
Not to eat so much chocolate, maybe,
or omitting all the darker fruits of earth’s temptations
Tempted, I plunge easily among the fallen
And it is only my own disregard,
my blithe assumption of fortune
that the demons who once threatened me
would not return,
having been defeated by the skills of others,
and the habitual droit de seigneur
with which I face the universe,
that larger reality
that bears no obligation
to pity me a second time
A Note to October Skies
Don’t think
you can get away with keeping it all to yourself!
So tonight, well after dark, I catch a glimpse
through a living room window, above the neighbor's house
when I’m reaching out to lower a blind,
the only gesture that would put me at the proper angle to see –
Whoa! Is that the moon. Where has it been?
Where have we been?
Lost in a weeks-long clouded dominion,
the misrule of the heavens?
And so full? Already?
I’m just sitting down to a solo dinner,
in front of the screen, of course,
and promise myself to go out and search the skies,
demanding answers
And when I do, some hours (and many mouthfuls) later
The moon, having stolen along
its duly appointed round, is higher,
but now surrounded by clouds,
frantic, hurrying clouds
dashing with cosmic purpose and grace, pure virtuosity…
The moon masked, obscured, turned orange, then wholly released
to blaze with glory,
surrounded by a white ruffled surplice, an adoring crowd
of translucent angels,
by glorifying, haste-making angels…
hidden, revealed,
submerging, emerging, dragged behind curtains,
then bulling through once more
Why should we suffer and quail,
fret and hide away and pull the covers over our face
Fearful of a run of sickly shuttered nights,
presuming on gloom,
when the moon is so faithful in her course,
so certain to reclaim her ever-changing gleam
of a changeable truth
On Not Failing
A very good result today
Forget about which organ,
a few of them in play
I passed a test this morning
Despite a barely hinted, dreadful warning,
things really are OK
Don’t know what future days may hold
Can’t say I'm prepared
If there is but one way to go
I’d rather keep the timing slow
and dwell among the old
©2022 Robert Knox
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