BW17: National Poetry Month

 Happy Sunday!  We are going to close out the month with a nod to National Poetry Month and this year's Poet Laurette Ada Limon.  

The Last Thing

First there was the blue wing

of a scraggly loud jay tucked

into the shrubs. Then the bluish-

black moth drunkenly tripping

from blade to blade. Then

the quiet that came roaring

in like the R. J. Corman over

Broadway near the RV shop.

These are the last three things

that happened. Not in the universe,

but here, in the basin of my mind,

where I’m always making a list

for you, recording the day’s minor

urchins: silvery dust mote, pistachio

shell, the dog eating a sugar

snap pea. It’s going to rain soon,

close clouds bloated above us,

the air like a net about to release

all the caught fishes, a storm

siren in the distance. I know

you don’t always understand,

but let me point to the first

wet drops landing on the stones,

the noise like fingers drumming

the skin. I can’t help it. I will

never get over making everything

such a big deal.

This week's post is brought to you by the letter Q for guiet, quintessential, question, and quest. 

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