by June 6, 2024 0 comments

It’s been a long day
like pounding food spikes
into the roots
of chancy saplings
with a dull hammer,
tossing down subjects and predicates
of time and space,
of cause and effect,
rescuing a student
from the swamp
of a plotless book.

I trace corridors
of shut doors,
open rooms oozing
dirty laundry.
My respite is
a housemother’s
photo album of England.

As day ends
I sit in an empty courtyard
in humid air
under a cold moon,
smelling a sweetness
from an unknown flower,
a source hidden in the dark.

– Ray Greenblatt

editors note:

Perfect peace for a pedagogue. – mh clay

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