Acts of Light
LindaAnn LoSchiavoShe’s old, my neighbor, planting daffodils
And other bulbs, these plump brown hopes asleep
For now, when she addresses me, that voice
Deep, curved like a construction hook, as if
She’s building with that voice things both of us
Will need. A kaffir lily, bare root still,
Is offered for inspection, years away
From blooming orange trumpets, syllables
Blown bright. There’s so little light left now.
Inside I watch her bordering the beds,
Determined, making order to impose
Her colors — — to oppose a nothingness.
What Do You Think?
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