Monday, June 29, 2015

Nightbird





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.


tk/June 2015


Beautiful read by R.A.D. ...





*A Midsummer Night's Melancholy by Michael Sowa

16 comments:

  1. The scent of belonging unique threads through this poem so beautifully. And the twilight sadness hints of an undercuurent of melancholy.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The wish to be there, the wish for the night. Life is mostly that waiting..

    ReplyDelete
  3. "...Cherokee mother
    clothed in twilight sadness,
    blade of grass pressed in her lips."

    I adore those lines.

    ReplyDelete
  4. This is beautiful, Tess! The reading ~ perfect accompaniment.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Love that Cherokee mother vision! Wow!

    ReplyDelete
  6. 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!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Maybe not so much Wisconsin...just the fact that I am 1/16 Cherokee...

      Delete
  7. Lovely write, third stanza is my favorite. :-) (Also, my grandmother was half cherokee :-)

    ReplyDelete
  8. Oh yes, the scent of belonging! So many lovely lines, it all brings back those wonderful teen years, and running out the back door!

    ReplyDelete
  9. oh so very reminiscent of my childhood....sweet

    ReplyDelete
  10. what an atmospheric beauty this piece of writing is! so lovely.

    ReplyDelete

Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.
― O. Henry (and me)