Messages from the Vacant Starfields

She spies him in the shadows
where he is reaching, tiptoed,
into the clouds for a particular star
but comes down emptihanded.

He shows her his upturned palm
and mouths one word – yerma
the Spanish for barren, infertile,
which she does not seem to hear.

She cocks her head the way a dog will
when it does not understand.
The lines contour around the base
of his thumb like tractor furrows.

He thinks again of Lorca, and this time
he says espiga, a spike of wheat.
Endrhymes are so much easier
in the Latinate languages.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s