A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
A single minute
taking in a memo of the suspicious supervisor
or hearing out
the bill collector on the telephone,
and seven thousand years
of knowing a loving God
become hapless fancy.
What great assemblies must come to order
before summer can begin?
Is there any joy
about the making of love,
the baking of bread,
the falling of rain,
that the dead were not celebrating
long before any of us were ever born?
Copyright 2018 Louie Skipper. From The Work Ethic of the Common Fly (Settlement House, 2018)