By Christine Swanberg
Author and Poet
Here is a poem for the summer solstice.
A pair of green, comma, angel wing butterflies cavort
Around the pear tree, the young pears aureola-rosy.
Everywhere another shade of green whistles a Celtic jig.
A patch of catnip lures a tawny Angora cat
With a gorgeous black mask. I love to see him
Rolling in the driveway, chasing crows
Who have eaten the spring-pink, bristly strawberries.
Raccoons resume their night marauding, leading their kin
To the skylight to peep down on us.
Now the air’s obese with birdsong and the pink smell
Of peonies, day-sleeping fireflies cradled on their leaves.
I sleep in, too, then listen to obscure female jazz singers.
Plans slip away, disappearing like barrel slugs.
Each sunset brings wispy angel wings.
Mars travels close to the earth, orange as a field lily.
A question mark angel wing butterfly spends time
Cozied on my arm. Everywhere the undersides of leaves
Silently tend larvae. Listen. Nighthawks croon.
Squirrels are changing from red to gray. Listen.
The earth says yes and no and yes again.
Listen. So much goes on without us.
This poem was first published in Moon Journal and again in Who Walks Among the Trees with Charity (Wind Publications).
Christine Swanberg is a local author.
From the June 22-28 issue