Tufted cotton flower parts
drift on waves in the sky
parachutes on wind currents
freed from parent, from home,
for open fertile land
Heavy rains splatter on blacktop,
yellow white lines invisible in glare
cast by car lights street lights moon
lights puddles of swirling mists.
Ghostly apparitions wiped out
by slick tires sweating acid rain
drinking acid rain finding traction
on asphalt soaked with rivers
oceans streams running into creeks.
Temporarily deep sludgy sewers,
fast food wrappings float over
oil urine soaked back yards set
against raging rivers unchanged
black streambed with low water
line urban suburb country worlds.
It can’t smell this sweet in the tropics.
Rainforests don’t have rich dark soil
ripe with the beginnings of new life
forming out of the decomposed
marrow and muscle of life before:
ferns, rodents, and bugs laid down
to return to more basic elements
the basic cycle of life includes
dirty mulch where fungi form
colonies and thrive on nutrients
they once provided to the plants
the rodents ate and once smelled
the sweetness of the northern woods.
Just found this document. Apparently I wrote 3 poems the summer of 2009. I think they all were written after coming home from interning at The Post Standard.
This work by Sarah Holmes is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License