by Bonnie Naradzay Had I not met the souls who gather at Miriam’s Kitchen
each morning for a meal, I could not have shared poems
that sway like sensate trees, that are not just standing there
stripped of leaves, nor could I have heard Carl, who sleeps
near the M Street Bridge, say he likes how the shadows
of birds' wings pass over his heart. I would not have seen
the robin lying dead on the sidewalk. Did it fall from the sky,
unlike the geese that glide overhead trailing their legs in flight,
or the starlings appearing to wait in the wings only to vanish
from sight? But since then I have lifted my eyes to the rafters
and seen Bede’s sparrow fly through that church basement
where we linger before disappearing into the darkening light.
This poem first appeared in One Art Journal in November 2023
Bonnie Naradzay leads weekly poetry “salons” at day shelters for homeless people and at a retirement center, all in Washington DC. Twice nominated for a Pushcart prize, her poems have appeared in AGNI, New Letters, RHINO, Kenyon Review, Tampa Review, EPOCH, Split This Rock, Dappled Things, and other sites. In 2010 she won the University of New Orleans Poetry Prize – a month’s stay in the South Tyrol castle of Ezra Pound’s daughter, Mary. While there, Bonnie enjoyed having tea with Mary, hiking in the Dolomites, and reading early versions of the Pisan Cantos. Her manuscript , “Invited to the Feast,” will be published by Slant Books.
コメント