Krista Detor

Flat Earth Diary   Krista Detor 7/2013

At the end of the summer, and the fruit’s in a jar
will you hum another wish, waiting on a shooting star
connecting dots to dots in blackness            
giving faces to the beasts
thinking fondly of black waterfalls with pools of stars beneath
off the edge, the water falls . . . to pools of stars beneath

At the end of the wishing and the pierce of ice that’s cracking
while the clouds tumble, crashing, and then fall into the pond
will the wind go on whipping
like a jealous sister, whipping
til you find the tiny opening between what’s here and what is long gone
At the end, see what’s here and what will always be gone

And there at the end, with the strange bells ringing, ah
will you repent and join the singing, ah
or stand on the flat earth, still believing, ah

At the end, will they say you wrote it down and then imploded
will you leave behind philosophy- stanzas to be quoted
how you plagued yourself with ponderings
of the black and bloodless sky
(why’d the chicken cross the road? It forgot that it could fly)
At the end, when you could simply fall in love will you? will you?

I am naked at the margin, on an island of swans
the boat is named Redemption – but the vessel I am on
is called The Madness of Wonder
and by the harnessing of words
I’m playing a pump organ
to the silence of white-throated birds
to silence
and unrepentant birds