Perseids
Because the night is alive with lamps — Edward Hirsch
Tonight the stars keep their distance,
we stretch our necks, on our backs
in the bed of the pickup.
We curse the haze, the clouds, the moon
spotlighting the night sky too bright. Out
in the field, horses snort, crickets grind
the minutes away, my son’s breath slows
down, he is warm in my arms. At the creek
a bullfrog twangs like a banjo. It starts.
David says whoa, he sees one flash past.
But I was watching a bat shoot out
toward the moon, circle back.
We are surrounded by everything
night, everything softly glowing. A cloud
stipples the moon, dapples into patches.
David sees the next one too. I see
the top of the ridge, medium gray,
the black cutout shapes of trees,
silver mist on the hilltop soft
as smoke. We are low in the bowl
of the sky, slow clouds flow. David sees
the third meteor streaking earthward,
but a whip-poor-will calls and calls.
I have been waiting all my life to rise.
by Bonnie Proudfoot, first appeared in the anthology I Thought I Heard a Cardinal Sing
Editor’s Note: This lovely poem reminds the reader that there is not just one thing of beauty to love, but many.
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