A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
One morning the crows settle
on the corn in our garden,
dark flames on the candled stalks.
I plant a broom in the earth,
straw end up, wrap it in an old
raincoat, topped with a baseball cap.
That’s when the caws turn to laughter.
They know that trick.
Nothing to do but practice
being a human scarecrow
waving the broom in impotent circles
like a witch who’s forgotten the spell
to lift off, her baseball cap slipping
over one eye, her raincoat trailing
in the grass, feet rooted in the earth.
Copyright 2015 Elizabeth Gargano