It was like running cool water over your wrists On the hottest day of the summer. Windless and wordless. Like clouds lumbering up the slope of the sky Burdened with moisture like Sherpas Who do this for the money. Like those who died on the trek Wanting to accomplish something They could not articulate Like the trash they left at the base camp Or in the ocean—a plastic shroud. It was what accumulates A leftover emotion from a dream You can’t recall. The morning dark With thunder. Things happen or they don’t. It’s nothing, you assure the child Who still trusts you. How a potted plant makes such a small demand. Water. Sunlight. So easy to neglect. Sometimes the littlest need is too much. You can’t stand it. You stare out the window At the ordinary uneventful landscape. It fills you With sweetness like local honey.
About the Poet:
Joan Colby’s Selected Poems received the 2013 FutureCycle Prize and Ribcage was awarded the 2015 Kithara Book Prize. Her recent books include Her Heartsongs from Presa Press, Joyriding to Nightfall from FutureCycle Press, Elements from Presa Press .and Bony Old Folks from Cyberwit Press. She has another book forthcoming from The Poetry Box Select series titled The Kingdom of the Birds which should be out next August.