Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Day 22: 50 ways to cook a chicken

Anyone want to guess what I was teaching today?

Spring Chickens

Spring hums here.  It doesn’t slowly unfurl
its green leaves. Blossoms confetti the air. 
Then trees leave out quick as if afraid sky
will open into showers.  Today my
class didn’t know what a subway looks like:
it’s dark like a mouth, I said, then opens
into light--people freckle than slur past.
like apparitions.  What are apparitions?
What’s come apart into air.  I say.
I move on to the bough.  What’s a bough?

It’s the part of the tree that reaches for
the mouth of the sky.
Confetti of blossom.
What’s left after a hard rain.
A red wheelbarrow, for instance, beside
those relentless chickens that peck and peck
the wet ground looking for what comes after.

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