Showing posts with label R. T. Smith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label R. T. Smith. Show all posts

Sunday, August 2, 2015

R. T. Smith: "Moth Aubade"


Downstairs early to mill
the morning coffee,
I find the kitchen wall

beside the lamp
is littered with moths
exhausted from a night

of circling the globe,
as if its light were
the source of joy.

As I approach in slippers
they hardly flutter
but hold their postures,

perhaps in their small
thoughts counting on me,
a frequent dreamer

still drowsy from reverie,
to show them mercy.
Pouring the beans, then

turning the worn handle
till the brass gears growl,
I study every wing

design—solid, striped
or mottled. To the Greeks
they were all psyche,

spirit drawn to flame,
but this August morning
I wish, before they perish,

to revive us all
with the scent of chicory
and conduct them out

the kitchen window
singing their luminous
individual names.



 
"Moth Aubade" by R. T. Smith. Text as posted on Silver Birch Press: New Voices in Fiction, Nonfiction, Plays & Poetry (12/17/12). 

Art credit: "Atlas moth wing," macro photograph by Dan Brown.


Tuesday, February 26, 2013

R. T. Smith: "Hardware Sparrows"


Out for a deadbolt, light bulbs
and two-by-fours, I find a flock
of sparrows safe from hawks

and weather under the roof
of Lowe's amazing discount
store. They skitter from the racks

of stockpiled posts and hoses
to a spill of winter birdseed
on the concrete floor. How

they know to forage here,
I can't guess, but the automatic
door is close enough,

and we've had a week
of storms. They are, after all,
ubiquitous, though poor,

their only song an irritating
noise, and yet they soar
to offer, amid hardware, rope

and handyman brochures,
some relief, as if a flurry
of notes from Mozart swirled

from seed to ceiling, entreating
us to set aside our evening
chores and take grace where

we find it, saying it is possible,
even in this month of flood,
blackout and frustration,

to float once more on sheer
survival and the shadowy
bliss we exist to explore.



"Hardware Sparrows" by R. T. Smith, from Messenger: Poems. © Louisiana State University Press, 2001.

Image: "Sparrows," acrylic painting by Spangles44 Blinkagain (originally color).