This is how we herded by the waitress station,
waiting, as the town, turned down to one by snow,
settled like a gown that smothered all that ailed us.
.
How we first heard about the hostages
on Facebook, and then the town knelt down to zero,
still as snow once it resolves itself to ground.
.
How the sidewalk still needed seeding with rock salt.
How even when a person stands still, they can slip.
.
How we counted the seeds of our blessings.
How our blessings rebounded off the booths like buckshot.
.
How we each sometimes rebound into being
a country of one self.
How we other times are one self of a city.
.
How only below zero can we remember
September as that country where we save daylight
like fat over our muscles.
.
How a woman ran at the chained gym doors
to save her daughter.
How she dropped on the unseeded walk.
How we’ll remember her legs as
a fleet of hummingbirds skidding through snow.
.
How sometimes, to give something a shot means kill it.
How other times it means just close your eyes.
–Saara Myrene Raappana, via Augury Books
Share this:
Tagged: Canticle of Waitresses Waiting, contemporary poetry, hummingbirds, Iron Horse review, ode, poem, poetry, Saara Myrene Raappana, self
Coffee and Irony 
Comment