Sunday, May 04, 2008


Storm-light’s grey clarity and you bluster.
Syllables batter against the rear-view, cling
to the meat of my earlobes
still half-a-city from home.

Rainclouds unroll over rush-hour, its ticking
stale from storage. Mouth open, I blare My Bonny
shoulder-checking headlights
and grit twisters
at the curb.

In evening’s rush-light and traffic’s flare
your face goes bone before you drop off
leaving a body to bob
over swells of asphalt and tar,
a body for me to bundle inside.

* * *

Here's my first May Day poem.

After four years, May Day has become an apparatus that requires very little work on my part.

Sure, I hafta heave and ho to set it spinning, via coercive emails and in-person nudges to poets near and far, but after that, it whirs away all month on its own.

Best of all, it generates energy - call it heat, call it breath, call it juice. But definitely energy of some form, the product of a group of poets struggling to write publicly...

So I'm pleased to be May Day-ing again this year...and ALSO pleased, this go-round, not to be heavily knocked up (as in year two) or to have an extremely small child to cosset (as in year three).

1 comment:

Cherice said...


It's whatever weather--
A stormy mood
Draws me in
Makes me click.

Google Alert!
Your poem
Pops up on the radar
Unconventional light!

Complex concepts
Rivet me,
Secure my passage
Through tornadic tumbles of words

That rip and rumble;
Wiping scenes that burst
Across the windows of my awareness
Like lightning.

The clock ticks incessantly
Work-to-do, work-to-do!
But I don't dare look.
Eyes grip the road, as this weather demands.

Miles pass with each minute.
I drift with the rain in the rear-view
Mind soon relaxes, soul sighs--
Filled with storm-light's fresh clarity.

Cherice Montgomery, 5-5-08