Earlier one of my readers said my poems “opened windows” into who I am. That’s one of the hazards and joys of writing, especially poems. We writers use pieces of life (our own and others) as seeds for our work.
It’s a little frightening to put those little pieces of ourselves in front of readers. But, there’s no time to give into fear. We have stories and poems clamoring to see the light of day. And, hopefully, readers to read them.
An egret crosses the street in front of my car
its gimlet yellow eyes fix on mine
white body sleek and stately as it moves
I feel it knows me our common ground
more than the street between us
An army of frogs parade across our windows
nightly we ponder the logistics of so many
army, colony, knot whatever they are called
what does it mean that they follow me
in dreams along telephone lines they cast
themselves as black notes against
a pearlescent sky ordinary birds no ravens
no albatross to make the message plain