Poetry

Spring 2008

 

 

Bertha Rogers

Looking

In the dawn
I saw stars reversing clouds, I saw
clouds pretending to be sky, and
a jet's lonely feather. This was winter,
in a place where seasons teach.

Later, when
the mountain tilted, the sun shone,
but the day was on the far side of cold.
Rime helped the snow stay pure, helped the hills
outline themselves beyond my window.

The flexed road
contributed to the whole idea of perspective,
yet I understood how the ancient painters
leveled everything they saw,
how vision is only an autistic's dream.

While I looked,
I heard the dogs' jaws chew their bones in time,
until at last our daily words were delivered
by the small car carrying a yellow sun.
Then the dogs barked.

 

 

Back to Poetry