Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 15,000 daily subscribers. Over 7,000 archived posts.
Barbara Crooker: Poem For My Birthday
It's November, light of amber, plum clouded sunsets, the remaining leaves somber, russets and umber, the last bits of color before winter's muslin dropcloths are laid down. God of the ginkgo trees, whose little lemon fans have fallen, God of the red oaks, still hanging on, hear my birthday prayer: Send me a heart of gratitude for this long afternoon of goldenrod light falling across my typewriter and a sky so blue I want to bite it like an apple. Let me walk in deep leaves on the way to dinner, scuffling and kicking my Buster Brown shoes like a nine-year-old girl. Let the blackboard of the sky be full of stars, writing all the old stories. When I go back to work, let me write one good thing that is true. This afternoon, two crows were arguing off in the distance; they both want the last word. So do I.
Copyright 2005 Barbara Crooker. From Radiance (Word Press, 2005). Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.
Barbara Crooker’s many collections of poetry include Some Glad Morning (Pitt, 2019). She lives in Pennsylvania.
Vox Populi 
I love this poem/prayer❤️
LikeLike
I do too, Lisa. Happy Thanksgiving!
LikeLike
I needed this. Thank you
LikeLike
This is so beautiful and toally resonated with me.
“When I go back to work,
let me write one good thing that is true.”
LikeLike
Sent from the all new AOL app for iOS
LikeLike