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Margarita Engle
trapped
between the pages
of an old book
I brought from Cuba
scent of the sea
surrounded
by strangers
with cell phones
I become aware
of my own silence
sandstone cliff
a ladder leads
to the altar
long after
the altar is gone
harvest season
is there a name
for the art
of arranging ripe fruit
on a kitchen counter?
fluttering
against a window
the trapped sparrow
helps me decide to turn
away from rigid thoughts
unprinted poems
I search the screen
for words
worthy of paper
worthy of trees
garden shop
instructions for building
stone ruins
with crumbling walls
for roses to climb
ghost town
a child
with a map
helps me find
my way
beyond the grave
of my sister's old horse
quaking aspens
with shimmering leaves
invisible wind
construction zone
the surveyor's orange wheel
measures
fertile farmland
just before it is paved
Margarita Engle is
a botanist, novelist and poet. She lives in central California, in the
rich agricultural valley of the San Joaquin, in view
of the Sierras that are gateway to the Yosemite Valley, where she enjoys
hiking and helping her husband with his volunteer work for a wilderness
search-and-rescue dog training program.
A tankaist for many
years, Engle is a member of the Tanka Society of America and a regular
contributor of
poetry and prose to its journal, Ribbons, as well as many other
journals specializing in the short poem. She writes in a light, wry style
that belies
an undercurrent of deeper themes and observations. —Michael McClintock
Copyright
2005: Simply Haiku |
