Soundtrack
Soundtrack
The heat drained. The light went out. Venus shone all at once, we opened our eyes all at once. Our gasps heated the air. It must have moved like a wave, this sound, beginning on the beaches of Mexico, sweeping inland and north, spilling from the lips of border patrol— we gasp the same in ever tongue. It lifted me at 3:04, when the sun tucked behind the moon, her laughter a still-glowing ring. You could map her course with a microphone, could measure her pace in sharp inhalations, stunned silence, laughter, slightly unhinged, in spirited clapping. When she reached the Atlantic, I hope she took a bow.
Photo by Bryan Goff on Unsplash
The Prompt
This poem was inspired by Monday’s total eclipse, but you don’t need to have viewed this (or any) eclipse to be able to engage with this week’s prompt. The prompt is simply this: awe.
When does awe tend to find you? Or where are you when you tend to find it? What does awe feel like in your body? What particular memories or experiences of awe stand out in your mind? Are moments of awe common for you? If not, what stands in their way?
Take some time in these memories and reflections, or intentionally open yourself to a new experience of awe. (I’m a firm believer in the power of micro-dosing awe every day.) Is there a poem—uniquely yours—waiting inside of all of this?
I look forward to reading whatever you share! I also want to say that I’m so grateful for the warm and generous way so many of you engage in the comments threads. I’ve fallen behind on reading your poems this past week (spring break + flulike illness followed immediately by strep throat + eclipse camping + single parenting has been a bit of a doozy), but I’m planning to cozy up with a mug of herbal tea and do some catch up this evening. In the meantime, I’m so grateful that you all are carrying the torch and responding to one another’s poems and comments with such insight and enthusiasm!
The view of majestic Rockies from the Continental Divide
Literally took my breath away.
The wooded terrain of Appalachia with its streams that run ice cold
Transported me to an ancient forest.
The endless stretches of Great Plains dotted with wind turbines
Left me feeling slightly unmoored.
The gray blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico
Made me wonder about the ocean beyond the horizon.
But what of this day?
In this place?
The wind whistling through the trees, as the crows caw and a dog barks.
The sun shining brightly on a world washed clean by last night's rains.
While inside the house, the quiet echoes, aside from the soft sounds of pups' snoring.
Well,
This is awesome too.
I have to confess that I got a jump on a prompt that may still be coming for us -- but when I saw that the actual prompt was awe, realized my poem still fit the theme. As usual, I am betraying my love of birds.
.
Second Yellow
.
First came the bells,
pushing into still-slanted
light, and the buttercups
crouched in rime.
.
That was in the beginning,
when bits of yellow meant
we’d made it.
.
But now we are mucking
out our gardens and
the tap is on:
small bursts of biscuitroot,
lavish arrowhead bouquets,
leafed pledges of arnica,
silvercrown, and every other
aster, and these are all
garlands laid down
for warblers.
.
To get here, they must
redline their pinhead hearts
for thousands of miles from
places that never die back.
They choose this trouble.
They crave the northern
nest, same as us.
.
Concertmaster Audubon’s
gave the first note yesterday.
When the yellow chorus
begins, I will put down
the rake and pray
welcome.