Pat Valdata

Astronomers Tell Us

When we look up at the nighttime sky
we’re looking back through time, and so
if we could look back far enough, we’d see
how everything began: stars, worlds, comets.
We’re made of that everything people
romantically call stardust. And I heard

somewhere—maybe NPR—that when
our stardust dies and they cremate us,
what doesn’t become ash evaporates.
In three or four days, the water vapor
released from our burning travels through
earth’s atmosphere, lofting literally
around the world, condensing into rain.
Today it’s raining, and I wonder who.

Anne Graue

Locusts

in the trees replace the ones in my ears,
rubbing their wings together for luck or love.

I’m used to it, the thrumming and the echo.
It rises up like the foam on a wave
edging up to the beach, imploring.

A mourning dove’s song rises above
the whining in five notes, the greatest stress

on the second. The thrumming echoes
at the worst times, when I try to drift off
to sleep or want to sit in silence.

A car goes by and the locusts quiet,
start to hum again, vibrating in the trees

drowning out a distant plane, the sound
of motors, the air’s whirring, the planet’s tilt,

—the differences almost visible—
ambient sounds I hear, those that are real

and those that are imaginary. A jet competes
with the droning—butterflies make
no sound. The thrumming and its echo.

Claire Scott

STILL LIFE WITH TENNIS RACQUET
A Mother’s Prayer

A crooked body, a staccato limp, a cane
living on Oxycodone and Vicodin
to dull the senses, to smooth sudden spasms
Klonopin or Lunesta at night
for flashbacks that strike like
lightning, slicing strung-out dreams
MRIs, EKGs, doctors frowning,
whispering in the ER, concussion,
brain bleed, TBI
sirens slash the afternoon, children stare
at the flashing lights, a teen with green hair
turns away, unable to watch
people gather around the body lying
still on the street, someone calls 911
a woman runs a light, texting
or sipping coffee or thinking about
last night’s tangle of tongues
he enters a crosswalk, easy stepping
the light turns green
his tennis racquet swinging
a Yankees cap, an Iggy Pop shirt
and a brand new pair of Asics
looking forward to seeing his friends
Lord, where were you that LA afternoon
when the sun was sliding down Laurel Canyon
where were you then
at least freeze this last frame and
let him taste one more mouthful of joy

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