A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
In the work ethic of the common fly
the earth remembers who we are, and where.
Who fears the voice that is never
at rest and always on the run? Who fears
the creatures crowded with wild eyes?
The one I seek has just escaped
where the house of my childhood stood,
and through the small iron gate
that never shook completely free
of my father’s hand. We
cannot choose unless we are first chosen.
Bear with me for now, for telling you
what has befallen me
where the crickets are sewn together in the wind.
Copyright 2018 Louie Skipper. This poem appeared as the Prologue to The Work Ethic of the Common Fly (Settlement House, 2018). Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.