Sunday, May 2, 2010

New Poem

The Pond

What seems so still at first is not.
A world submerged, and every inch alive.
Above the surface, iridescent dragonflies,
their errant flight embroidering the air,
wear close-cut goggles as glider pilots do.
Ribbed torsos anchor thin, transparent wings,
patterned like a leaded pane, computer
chip magnified ten thousand times.
Although it’s May, the stink speaks
August all at once, as all this simmers
in the heat. At the water’s edge,
something slips onto the mud-- a leopard
frog, finding its first legs, a bit of tail
still hanging at the back. Beneath the green-
gold water, shadows skim—the oblivious
catfish, big and barbled, plump as a purse.
A thousand tiny fry scatter in confusion,
pinprick eyes shine like constellations,
shift and shape again.
Even in one drop
a million beings swarm, being born, dying,
preying on their fellows, creatures
in the middle of their lives, as I am, unaware.

4 comments:

marly said...

Glad to see a poem sprout in the midst of all this flurry and combat with illness! I like the business with the tiny and immense (constellations) combined.

Robbi said...

Thanks Marly.

Lou said...

You are amazing.

Robbi said...

Thank you Lou!