The cage
Where the parrot died
After eating a page
Of Schopenhauer
The cage
I walked under
As a child
Listening to sounds
Heard nowhere else on earth
The bird couldn't fly anywhere
But the word Guatemala circled in the air
While snow covered Omaha
And the child's mind
Learned to voyage to other countries
The
Apple Tree Brags
Of its noon shadow Sharp like a knife
Of its twilight shadow
Stretching to the horizon See Some of us are big
Of its midnight shadows
Flowing
In three directions Moonlight Starlight Nowhere
I like to go out at dawn
Sit in the shade of an oak tree
Eat an apple or two
Drink some cold cider
Carve my initials in the bark
John McKernan is now a
retired comma herder. He lives, mostly, in West Virginia, where he edits
ABZ Press. His most recent book is a selected poems: Resurrection of the Dust.
