It calls with a clear
two-fingered whistle;
how a neighbor summons children
home for summer supper.
Unabashed wooing.
A lark? Or Cherokee
mother
clothed in twilight sadness,
blade of grass pressed in her lips.
Run. Feel
night-cooled meadow
under sunburned feet.
Find the moth-specked porch lamp,
the scent of belonging.
Without the chatter of song birds,
it seems human in the dark. Urgent.
Should I leave by back door or front?
Persistent pipe. O! Come.
Persistent pipe. O! Come.
tk/June 2015
Beautiful read by R.A.D. ...
*A Midsummer Night's Melancholy by Michael Sowa
gorgeous
ReplyDeleteThe scent of belonging unique threads through this poem so beautifully. And the twilight sadness hints of an undercuurent of melancholy.
ReplyDeleteThe wish to be there, the wish for the night. Life is mostly that waiting..
ReplyDelete"...Cherokee mother
ReplyDeleteclothed in twilight sadness,
blade of grass pressed in her lips."
I adore those lines.
Really delightful read.
ReplyDeletegreat images!
ReplyDeleteinto the night...
ReplyDeleteThis is beautiful, Tess! The reading ~ perfect accompaniment.
ReplyDeleteLove that Cherokee mother vision! Wow!
ReplyDeleteSimply delightful
ReplyDeleteRosey Pinkerton's blog
I love the thought of an Indian miss in the bushes with a blade of grass when I hear a songbird. Very Wisconsin of you Tess. Lol!
ReplyDeleteMaybe not so much Wisconsin...just the fact that I am 1/16 Cherokee...
DeleteLovely write, third stanza is my favorite. :-) (Also, my grandmother was half cherokee :-)
ReplyDeleteOh yes, the scent of belonging! So many lovely lines, it all brings back those wonderful teen years, and running out the back door!
ReplyDeleteoh so very reminiscent of my childhood....sweet
ReplyDeletewhat an atmospheric beauty this piece of writing is! so lovely.
ReplyDelete