INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Paul B. Roth
Ann Christine Tabaka
Deji W. Adesoye
W. M. Rivera
Michael Lee Johnson
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2018
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
note: in print 1967 - 1980. Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.
As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 47 years all together....
Silver Grey Fox
A NEW POEM AFTER HURRICANE MARIA
It wasnít just another tropical storm this time.
This time we all took it serious, but some more
than others. Especially on the Caribbean islands
small and larger though none big enough to with
stand the blows of major hurricanes with one on
top of anotherófirst Irma and then Maria
within just days. Too much way too quick.
But, out on the island up the
winding two lane
road in the mountains thereís yet no word, just
an eerie silence or static when trying to contact.
Actually, there it must be much worse what with
no power, limited supply of water and foodstuffs.
Still we believe with family around and nearby
all will be okay, supporting each other, depending
on each otherís strengths and independent nature.
Yes, not too much more we can do right now but
sit and wait, wait to receive some kind of contact
or a means of reaching out to family or receiving
communication from the island, from up on the
mountain, from the family conclave, from Mom.
Like during the storm here, waiting, waiting and
watching the bands, gusts of wind raging, pushing
their way around 70 to 100 mph twisting, bending,
breaking branches, turning over bottlebush, palm
trees, littering the ground with twigs and leaves.
Leaving us just waiting for the storm's eyewall.
Watching, waiting, wondering, worrying you are.
I know it is next to impossible, yet not impossible
to not know nor have any way to reach the broken
branch still hanging from the high limbs those
just out of my reach, the ones jutting from trees.
Even more unsettling without having any way
of knowing for certain that all your family are
as okay as it is possible to be frozen like a
moment in time up on the mountain sides just
off the inaccessible two lane winding roadway.
We wait, watch you wait, distracting ourselves,
you as much as that's possible without fading
playing dominoes, talking of anything but out
there where all are struggling now to survive.
Waiting, watching, yes wondering, worrying.
And finally, relief, an "All are okay." message.
AH, SUCH ARE PLEASURES OF LIFE
Yes, its true, the smallest stone
always makes ripples in the water,
but then it is also true that if the sun
is at the right angle and right time of day
it is also possible to see the moss on
the north side of some trees--those not
in the shadow of other trees, big or small.
Now that we have those profound matters
out of the way we can address significant
concerns: exactly why does the calico cat
having jumped onto the edge of the spread
gently touch your face at almost the same
moment in time each and every early day?
And, yes, isn't it also true that some petrances like the silver grey fox that
birds can learn to talk with their owners
while others merely parrot (sic) or minik
nearly anything they hear from their humans?
Though other things, seemingly very common
appears just before dawn in time to greet early
morning computers walking to the bus stop
and pausing in each pre-dawn hour across the
street to fix its gaze upon me until I acknowledge
its presence in my passage waiting for greetings.
And then too, but this listing would go on and on
for there is nearly no end to the interactions of
creature and human, at least none I know of.
Ah, such is but one of the pleasures of life today.
Fred Wolven, Southeastern Florida