INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
A long-beaked bird, brown,
sits on a broad bough, scolding
the white cat that crawls
across the lawn, acting
like a chameleon.
Bee, bumble me.
Brook, babble my ears.
I'm too long gone
From your bee bop and brook boogie.
Leafy lady, carry me in your high boughs.
Cool these hot heels.
Tangle my too-tame hair,
You messy breezes.
A child at the window
Watches the others play
Like a pale day moon,
Waiting for night to fall.
(Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2004)
Each summer a white owl
perched on the bricks above
the Greek restaurant on Main Street.
Perhaps he basked in the smell
of souvlaki, of gyros, and cinnamon
rice pudding wafting out the door.
More likely, he watched for pigeons from his roost.
But now he's gone, along with the pigeons.
--Was there a secret plot to rid the city of them?--
He might have gone in search of Chinese
or French food. More likely
pigeon was his haute cuisine.
Marilyn Churchill, Ann Arbor
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