Obscurity and the Amateur (audio only)
Click the icon above to listen to this audio poem.
Recorded at the Chancellors Reading, Poets Forum 2015. NYU Skirball Center. New York City.
I’m sure there is a word
In English there is always a word
What is that low-flying short-winged bird
Your mother would know
Even if she can’t call up its name
They fly alone notwithstanding
They are abundant
But they fly only the breadth of a field
Count your fingers
Count your toes
Count your nose holes
Count your blessings
Count your stars (lucky or not)
Count your loose change
Count the cars at the crossing
Count the miles to the state line
Count the ticks you pulled off the dog
Count your calluses
Count your shells
Count the points on the antlers
Count the newjack’s keys
Count your cards; cut them again
Well, a great many things have been said
in the oven of hours. We have not been
shaken out of the magnolias. Today was another
hard day. And tomorrow will be harder. Well,
that sounds like our gong. But we’ll have
the boy’s birthday and we will have
music and cake. Well, I will think only
good thoughts and go up and talk to the rock.