Up and down the street, the neighbors
are clearing away the snow and ice.
Late risers, from upstairs windows we
admired the powdered roofs and sidewalks,
the rows of gentle hills atop
parked cars. Now we pick up
the shovel and go outside. The trees
still wear their pelts of white,
but today the world begins
to smudge and color at the corners.
Two ravens veer low over the trees,
pursued by a pair of crows.
Between gusts of wind,
the burble of a Carolina wren.
—Luisa A. Igloria
In response to today’s Morning Porch entry. It’s interesting what this collaboration is doing to our shared geographies! The blizzard missed us here in Central Pennsylvania, and I’m not sure how many ravens are found in Luisa’s neck of the woods. But there’s no reason why poems that take the natural world for their subject should be held to a stricter standard of nonfictional reportage than other poetry. In the world of these poems, Luisa and I live on the same street.
Incidentally, Luisa is blogging most actively these days at The Lizard Meanders on blipfoto.