The drone of the crop duster drifts through my window
like a helicopter looking for a landing.
Birds sing and flit around the feeders
But where are the butterflies?
What is a will-o'-the-wisp?
What is a whip-poor-will?
The bees that escaped their hives in protest
Of a neighbor’s rough handling swarmed
My porch, my yard, my window screens.
After two days, they rediscovered their hives
And lifted the siege. I went to the grocery.
The anniversary of a death approaches
But I’m not a Buddhist to celebrate the end.
I’m not pining like the doves who coo
From the highwire from where they see what they see
But where are the butterflies? Where are the pond frogs?
The crop duster returns in the evening to herald dusk
the way frogs once did.
A murder of crows caw from the top of a tree
struck by lightning. Will they remember my face?
Written for Poets and Storytellers who challenge us to write something both spooky and summery (summerween!). Nothing is spookier here in the lowlands of Southeast Michigan than the constant drone of the cropduster. What they are doing can't be seen, like the roots of a tree.
And for dVerse Poets who gave us a poem from Pablo Neuvda's Book of Questions, Why do trees concal their roots? a poem that prefers questions to answers."
24 comments:
Seems we always have a tradeoff. Crop dusting and food or...
There is always collateral damage it seems.
The dissapearance of bees will come back to bite us I fear... but as Roth says we will nead the bread.
The problem (methinks) is that we've been led to believe we can't have food enough without chemical spraying. Thanks, Dwight, for commenting.
Right, so much of what we love to eat depends on pollination.
We don’t have crop dusters here, Yvonne, but the drone helicoptered into my imagination. I would be sad and worry if there were no butterflies or bees in my garden.
Thanks Kim. I saw one beautiful butterfly a couple days ago and it made me realize it was the first.
Yvonne, your poem is stunning in every possible way ... I read it aloud and it felt like a wonderful stream of consciousness .... well done, my Friend.
I still see bees and butterflies here. I cannot imagine a world without them.
Thank you Helen!!!
Bees, yes. Butterflies few and far between. Thanks, Truedessa for commenting.
I love the understated rhythm and message of your poem - the couplets give space for thought and take the reader into the world of bees and frogs
Thanks so much Laura!!!
I think poets see from the high wire. We are also like canaries in the mine.
Ha! Good observation, Colleen. Thanks!
Oh yes, crop dusters are nasty things!
The drone of a crop duster would fill me with dread too.
The crop duster only lasts a short time, most times less than half day. We on the farm didn't use them.
On your last line, "A murder of crows caw from the top of a tree . . . " I think google bit you and the crows should "murmur". It just did it to me now. It persisted just now.
Thanks Rommy! They make me think of drones, up to no good.
Any drone sound is annoying. There's collateral damage for sure.
I think so! Thanks, Rosemary.
Google's autocorrect messes up ALL the time. I strongly dislike it. I do believe, however, that crows caw and doves murmur!! Thanks Jim.
Thanks for commenting Purple in Portland!!
I like that we both mention trees struck by lightning. Your questions bring to light the destruction humans cause to the natural world.
Thanks Melissa!
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