Poetry Sundays (a college try)

The Land We Know

 

Things are heavy tonight, the air

filled with liquid, beading

before rain, for rain.

I lie on my back just so

I can almost see

the tip of the wide oak

it’s branches spreading out.

There seems to be an end

To the sky. It is almost flat

like the land we know.  Nights

I walk into the back yard

and compare the sky

for constellations: big dipper,

little dipper, north star.  Alone

I imagine my parents

pointing them out when I was

young.  Our yard

was big and it was always easy

to find a space where light

was not so bright

and so near.

by me - somewhere around 1991-1992