Augury

Comments Off 02 October 2012

All day the mockingbird’s been whining from the cryptomeria.
What could she have to complain about?
Just look at this place, its earthen pots and summer thrift,
the wide expanse of lawn down to the sea.
Wisps of cloud triangulating like great flying sails.
And today, how the dragonflies cavort as though sprung
from dragonfly jail.

The hour itself spells July: swallowtails, haze of horizon, the water
stippled just the sharpest shade of blue.
I put down my book, listen to her grouse. Above me
the leaves of the witch hazel, their thin corona of rust.

Photo by hart_curt on flickr

« Speed

Featuring Kim Triedman »

Comments are closed.

Author Info

This post was written by Kim Triedman who has written 5 posts on Atticus Review.

Kim Triedman has been nominated for the anthologies Best New Poets 2009 and Best of the Web 2010 and her writing has been widely published and recognized. She is a graduate of Brown University and lives in the Boston area. She is the managing editor of Ibbetson Street. Her first poetry collection -- "bathe in it or sleep" -- was published by Main Street Rag Publishing Company in October of 2008.