Morning; I wake to an empty house.
Sun’s tipped his gold hat
over the hills, beyond the condo complex
where Mr. and Mrs. Domestic Violence
are sleeping it off. Kids trudge
to school, knee socks and backpacks.
The news, of course, is dismal.
Yet glints of magic persist:
jay’s glitterwing, silver snail trail, peach bud.
Olly olly in free is something we used to yodel
when we were kids,
meaning you who were playing dead
get up and race as fast as you can
to home base.
Today I call my beloved vanished friends
back from wherever they went—
he who lived in music
like a mansion with infinite rooms,
she who wheeled herself down to the ocean
to face infinity head on.
Know that I’m watching for you now
from whatever big tree you’re hiding behind—
in pollen mote and leaf-flicker,
in every eyeless beam of light.
—from Rattle #58, Winter 2017
Alison Luterman: “A lot of my poems are about my neighborhood, or take place in my neighborhood. Clearly, I don’t get out enough. But jokes aside, enough happens here every day to fill a thousand books. And I only get glimpses of most of it. I try to be an honest chronicler of my time and place.” (web)