You Can Start Over

a declaration

You Can Start Over

Just today, I declared myself
poet laureate of Joe Pye weed,
bee-bent clover and June’s
box turtles, a water-droplet-
sounding flock of shiny-black
cowbirds, the tiny assassin
at the center of a coneflower. 
Starting now, I will only write 
poems in hole-punched 
caterpillar code—the native
language of a weeping cherry, 
ever-lamenting the loss 
of winged things, poisoned 
by those who prize an illusion 
of perfection. As poet-in-
residence of this wild half-acre, 
I will only give readings to 
an audience of moonlit toads, 
swooping bats and tiger moths, 
pausing for interruptions from 
the barred owl, hooting in rhythm 
with katydids loud as thunderclaps.

a poem written in caterpillar code, native language of the weeping cherry

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Thank you for reading a small spectacle. This poem was inspired by Kortney Garrison, who just today declared herself as Summer’s Writer in Residence.

For more poems written in reverence of wild kin on a re-wilded half-acre, my self-published collection No One Ever Says is available in the Lulu bookstore. You can also find copies of my chapbook Every Note, a Lantern from Kelsay Books and Amazon.