Poetry Cabinet
All poems copyright Dave Hedenstrom 2013.
All poems copyright Dave Hedenstrom 2013.
Think About Horseshoes
As we walked back to the campground from the beach at Zippel Bay, your little sister sighed and declared I'm hungry -- And you, my boy (still young enough that the horse's tracks on the gravel road enthralled you) told her Don't think about that, Ana -- Think about horseshoes! California
Someone told where the fishing hole was and now all the fish are gone. Endangered Species
Here in our cautious litigious attempt at utopia, swimming in images of throat-knives and skull-bullets, you almost never see hitchhikers hiking half-backward at the edge of the highway now, thumbs held out like hooks baited with hope, trolling for the uncommon fish of trust. While Making a Sidewalk
Look, says my love: she points above the garage at the white arrow of an egret flapping through the blue. And inching across the egret's path there's an old aeroplane with droning props. What's more, a sleek high jet's arc cuts improbably through the paths of both. Amused by this concise history of flight I nod and lay another pleasantly heavy brick into excavated earth. V.I.P.s
Voting, I wondered where we'd be without them: Not the ones who get elected and sit behind desks almost as big as their egos but the white-haired ladies who woman the polls, sitting behind collapsible tables on folding chairs upholding democracy. Treasure
I sneak upstairs, listen for sleep- breathing, slip my hand beneath your pillow. Small white seed. I take it and leave something green. I, father or tooth-fairy, depending, treasure this tooth as you'll treasure that dollar you'll wake to, my boy, gap-grinning. |
July Evening, Battle Creek Park
Happy my eyes can hold finch gold and let go. The Problem With Knowledge
You know, there is always more to know the more you know. You know. More is less, you know, more or less. Juncture
Juncture of county road and country stream. Swallows, sleek arrows of energy, dart and swoop and weave like crazy, like clowns except they'd do the same without the audience -- which, in this cool blue summer dusk consists, I suppose, of God and the moon and a man who might be a little bit closer to knowing the meaning of thanks. The Difference
Rivers meander. Highways pander. Clock Radio
The muscular hand of a symphony pulls me up from dreamwaters: The end of a pleasant (if somewhat puzzling) drowning. The workday stands there waiting, holding out a towel. Today
Today as I walked the stray dog of contentment appeared from behind and trotted beside me a while, as if it were mine. October Nights
Leaves skitter the sidewalk out our window on brittle feet. They and the wind keep us company. The rain, too, at times. Always the sound of someone there and no reason to fear the dark. |