Monday, July 19, 2021

Leaving Behind Beauty



Leaving Behind Beauty

by Suzanne DeWitt Hall


I don’t know which creature

snail or slug

leaves behind a glittering sign

of midnight motion

but there it was;

a lacy map

of iridescent trails

which had not been the day before.

 

Disdained thumbless things

gliding on a magic carpet

of their own pulsing creation

slick and silent

up trees and over fences

intent on simply being

and leaving behind

beauty.

Wednesday, July 7, 2021

The Year of the Cicada


Oddly enough, this is not my first poem about cicadas.

The Year of the Cicada

by Suzanne DeWitt Hall

July 7, 2021

 

 

I’ve heard the cicadas will be many this year

not heard the way we hear

the waxing, waning waves of sound

pulsing from their tymbals

to fill the dusk.

Not that,

but heard through the pulse of data

across wires and air

bearing news from one being to the next

in cicada-like proclamation:

“Look at me! Judge me worthy! I am here!”

 

I’ve heard their presence has been a plague

encouraging exodus.

They’ve not yet begun to thrum

where we live, also waiting

buried in the earth

hungering to be born

to stretch and groan

escaping the confines of this present exoskeleton

clawing into tender freedom

flying away

to fill the world with the pulse of our own song

and leaving the dead shell

of these former selves

behind.

Friday, July 2, 2021

 



I moved my laptop to another room, and there's a mirror behind the desk which means I get to watch the skin on my throat transform into crepe in real time.

I don't hate it. Hopefully my spirit is softening simultaneously.