Fowling Piece: Poems

Stars in a Field

33 Stars in a Field Thistles stand as clocks fully struck in fields of fading flowers— when the fires of summer come they will gather up the hours of rains past, frost endured and famished stalks in full gale that begin their telling once all forms of telling fail Burying the Peacock Now that there is one less throat loosing superstitious cries, the evil-eyed other peacocks vie in a bright clash, hissing and striking their likenesses. Beyond them, a full moon hammers fields into intaglios of loosestrife, and what began with a dog’s bark ends with an armful of iridescent death. We cross ourselves and hurry home. 34 Burying the Cricket Chirp infinitely now on your arid bed of silences, doll in a tiny white box. My husband mock-solemn digging with a child’s trowel: yea, though we walk through the valley before I said stop saying that and the hole going deeper, my daughters throwing dandelions in, one two three— then the loose dirt top, and we all walked quickly away into a wind that seemed to be coming from our house. That night I dreamt a cat was digging you up like a fallen bird and when I turned to stop it from happening I vanished. Arrival Midwinter, the crows take their darkness out on day. A thin rain falls and breaks. I wonder at the way the oaks unravel here (and travel word of mouth) another year. Not going, I go south. ...