POETRY: “Eavesdropping On The Redwoods” by Sharon Lopez Mooney
I thought I heard some tough young redwoods
trying to get the ancients’ attention
but the elder trees are not interested in prattle, […]
UChicago's Oldest Literary Magazine
I thought I heard some tough young redwoods
trying to get the ancients’ attention
but the elder trees are not interested in prattle, […]
I’d like to know the
Funny thing in your ribs. […]
I can tell you about the student learning
by holding a bag of beans in her palm
in order to feel the weight of the notes […]
At first my eyes said
a kite hovering a hundred feet above
but there was no thread attached,
no child anchored in sand, arms outstretched,
countering the coastal gale. […]
Deities sat perched on temple parapets,
concrete birds gleaming in the Georgia sun. […]
I apologize for not reading the stack of books
you’ve sent me,
those wet stories of a West Virginia childhood
with nighttime drives around cliffs […]
we neighborhood kids flooded the sidewalk
waiting for the ice cream truck to sing its tunes.
Jelly sandals melted into the concrete while jean skorts
and tank tops colored the bleakness of the apartment block. […]
We finally talk, palm tree humid balm doesn’t
wilt the rules. This rehab center is strict.
The silence a crushed space, you stood, cast
eyes to rocky ground beneath you. Fingers
in pockets a familiar anchor—you twisted,
bent, found the smooth, flat stone, considered […]
How unlikely that we should be here at all
Our presence but a brief raven’s call
Across the valley of this desert place
The worn rocks bearing an indifferent face […]