Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 20,000 daily subscribers and over 8,000 archived posts.
Roberta Hatcher: By Yellow Lamplight
We stand in the onion fields looking up at the night.
Robert Bly
He has dragged his muddy feet into the kitchen again,
as I cry at the counter peeling and chopping.
I, too, once looked up at the night. Now,
the stars, I prefer to drink them. Dancing
in my glass, lighting the dark corners
of my grubby badger heart, they will subside, I know.
But what of the happiness they wrought?
Laughter around a table, flavor of onions
and mustard and salt, music to drown the sound
of his weeping. All the gods are fallen.
I am not heartbroken. Cronus eats his children,
we know what Abraham was prepared to do for his Lord.
I dig in the dirt for potatoes and beets
that taste of earth. No one can convince me
the dirt is not beautiful. Had we disdained
the serpent and the badger less we would not now be looking
to Mars to save us. Pour some wine, turn up the music.
Can we please not have to listen to that infernal weeping?
--
Copyright 2019 Roberta Hatcher
Roberta Hatcher is the author of French Lessons.
Discover more from Vox Populi
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
At least as clever as “The subtle serpent,” is this poet, directly descended from Eve—but aren’t all the females of our species? You might ask? And my answer is aye! But few so clever as this, there are three good poems here to read, take them all in. Tread the perimeter of the garden till you come to that big gate. What you do next is your business.
LikeLike
Thanks, Sean!
>
LikeLike
Ahhhh. Beautiful work. Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Congratulations on your poem being published on Vox Populi. I can taste it, smell it and hear it!
And thanks for the photo credit on FB.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sorry, Ruth, I didn’t know the photo was one of yours. I’ve inserted a credit below the image.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Michael.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wonderful poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person