I sit here, and I don’t notice the dirty dishes, left lying in the sink I don’t stare at the holes in the wall, strange and unexplained I don’t ponder the fishbowl, tipped over on the floor, or the color the light makes as it bounces off the broken mirror I do not wonder about the skittering in the attic, And I don’t think about the ceiling tiles, slowly chipping down, and gathering in the roots of my hair I sit here, and I don’t notice anything, As the browning shutters bang against the wall like the wings of a caged bird Because I’ve noticed That noticing just makes it feel less like Home Alden Powers, 12East Hampton, New York
Poetry-Reflections
Dawn
The first shaft of luminous light travels, its speed unthinkable Over the horizon, through the trees, And into my open eyes. Birds hop about, like people, Trying to find a good Perch, branch, position In life. Satisfied, they begin their Throaty chorusing, declaring only the best. Window open, the maple and oak Scent drifts like it has done For millions of years, a crisp Beginning to the significance Of the day, three hundred and Sixty-five rotations a year, Time’s luck which decides so much. As after a rainstorm, Water has never smelled so sweet. During the time between dreams And reality, air has never Tasted so good. Wujun Ke, 13Chapel Hill, North Carolina
Dawn
The first shaft of luminous light travels, its speed unthinkable Over the horizon, through the trees, And into my open eyes. Birds hop about, like people, Trying to find a good Perch, branch, position In life. Satisfied, they begin their Throaty chorusing, declaring only the best. Window open, the maple and oak Scent drifts like it has done For millions of years, a crisp Beginning to the significance Of the day, three hundred and Sixty-five rotations a year, Time’s luck which decides so much. As after a rainstorm, Water has never smelled so sweet. During the time between dreams And reality, air has never Tasted so good. Wujun Ke, 13Chapel Hill, North Carolina
