A poem

It’s the last clear morning before the storm —
of the century, they say, or at least the winter —
maybe 10 inches. I’ll believe it when I see it.

I like snow,
and anyway we broke down this fall
and got a snowblower.

It’s electric, and uses the same battery as the lawnmower,
but I still feel kind of guilty.

So anyway, this morning off the bus
I walked around some sort of traffic jam
at the parking garage.

I don’t know what everyone was doing there,
just that they were in the way, so I was redirected
down an alley with implacable sunlight and good echoes. I started to sing.

I don’t like listening to Leonard Coen’s Hallelujah at the open mic
But it’s one of the best singing songs.

I like to belt it along the street, and hear it bounce off buildings
And corners
And windows doors cars stoplights.

Sometimes that dark ebullience —

calm and storming, exulting in sadness, ‘holy and broken’ —

Is just what I need.

Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.


Did you like this poem? Here are a couple more by me:

I still write sometimes, and I have a buttload of already-written stuff. So there you go.

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