Sonnet to Fleeing Things

This entry is part 85 of 95 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2010-11


“The stork in the heavens knoweth her appointed time;
and the turtledove, and the crane, and the swallow,
observe the time of their coming.” —Jeremiah 8:7

Dear Life, every time I think I’ve caught up,
there you go speeding by, waving as you pass.
Why do I always have to be the one who has
to snap the documentary photograph,
spontaneous yet looking artfully composed
thanks to those swans at the edge of the frame?
Their necks crane north, their aim some
obviously fairer mecca where, among hosts
of other migratory souls— terns, pintails, rainbow bee-
eaters and cedar waxwings— they’ll search out currents
of warmer air to help them soar. Oh small intervals
that mark these earth-bound cycles: in the mean-
time I’ll turn my gaze to the late snow outside,
speckled with shadow though eggshell white.

Luisa A. Igloria
03 08 2011

In response to today’s Morning Porch entry, with thanks to Ira Sukrungruang, whose Facebook status this morning also inspired the first two lines of this sonnet.

Series Navigation← Letter to the Hungry GhostsImpression, with Rain and Buds →

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