Re post

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. 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 )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )


Connecting to %s