Sundry #shortpoems

photo: Steve Peterson

Here are some short poems that I wrote at different times this spring and summer. They've barely peeked out at the world.

 

Reflecting on words spoken by Jonas Salk

In a forest in Mexico half-a-

billion 

monarch butterflies cling

to trees,

resting for a journey

that will take four

generations so

they’ll never see

what they are aiming

the arc of their lives

toward. And I wonder

Are we being

good ancestors?

– steve peterson

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#shortpoem

dawn,

a neat circle

around the dandelion – 

just the fluff

seeds missing – 

a goldfinch

busy-ness.

-- steve peterson

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Stroke Poems #10

after the stroke

mom’s speech often

arrives garbled, her sentences

add miscellaneous pronouns

and sometimes end

in a sigh – not what i mean. 

having a strike is hard.

then, the other day she

pointed out the window

where the birds gathered

and exclaimed, 

hockey pucks!

words i haven’t heard her utter

since i watched Mikita and Esposito 

play for the Blackhawks in the ‘70s.

we turned to each other

and burst out laughing.

– steve peterson

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#shortpoem

A tiny wren searches

the cracks

the crevices

the low and

beneath-our-notice

places

the crawl and creep places

the afraid-of-

the-dark places

-- steve peterson

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#shortpoem

you can find sweetness

even

in the marrow

of grass

-- steve peterson

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stroke poems:small touch

It has been months since

mom’s toenails were clipped,

the corn that plagues her

shaved.

Feet carry us, our burdens; 

their pain, a reminder.

I had not known how

lack of touch leaves

old women islands.

This feels so good,

she says.

Let them soak

a bit longer,

I say.

– steve peterson