Dawn
......................."...and there we slumbered on the moss..."
...........................................~Keats
At dawn today the lightning raged and wind
raced through our limbs, rain fed the spreading roots
of climbing roses planted near new posts-
a cottage fence we built last summer while
the heat and dust were everywhere, while she
in silk and pearls held the digging stick,
I wrestled timbers into place. Last month
I set those roses in and planted vines.
So this month corkscrew willows, leafing out,
join one wisteria, the roses, grapes
along our fenceline, keeping chaos back
and deer from rutting right up to the door.
She leaves each dawn a little while, returns
and calls me sluggard while her morning dress
falls to the littered floor. Outside, the storm
blows cherry blossoms to our window. When
I glance distracted for a moment, she
reminds me of her presence in a way
no man could fail to heed. The cottage groans
with all that wind outside, and tiny feet
scurry against cracked floorboards near the walls
where I have set no traps: too occupied
with other more important tasks, I turn
and bid her bend to my will like the wind
W.F. Lantry, a native of San Diego, received his PhD from the University of Houston. In 2010 he won the *CutBank* Patricia Goedicke Prize, and National Hackney Literary Award in Poetry. His chapbook, The Language of Birds, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He currently works in Washington, DC. His website is: www.wflantry.com
......................."...and there we slumbered on the moss..."
...........................................~Keats
At dawn today the lightning raged and wind
raced through our limbs, rain fed the spreading roots
of climbing roses planted near new posts-
a cottage fence we built last summer while
the heat and dust were everywhere, while she
in silk and pearls held the digging stick,
I wrestled timbers into place. Last month
I set those roses in and planted vines.
So this month corkscrew willows, leafing out,
join one wisteria, the roses, grapes
along our fenceline, keeping chaos back
and deer from rutting right up to the door.
She leaves each dawn a little while, returns
and calls me sluggard while her morning dress
falls to the littered floor. Outside, the storm
blows cherry blossoms to our window. When
I glance distracted for a moment, she
reminds me of her presence in a way
no man could fail to heed. The cottage groans
with all that wind outside, and tiny feet
scurry against cracked floorboards near the walls
where I have set no traps: too occupied
with other more important tasks, I turn
and bid her bend to my will like the wind
W.F. Lantry, a native of San Diego, received his PhD from the University of Houston. In 2010 he won the *CutBank* Patricia Goedicke Prize, and National Hackney Literary Award in Poetry. His chapbook, The Language of Birds, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. He currently works in Washington, DC. His website is: www.wflantry.com
