Under buttered clouds, blue jays scuttle,
the limp mud studded with leaves
gold and starry.
In the brush
a coyote waits, eyes keen,
lean and patient. The crows
take notice,
assemble.
Dark comes early, bruising
the sky, bare branches
an emphasis
of black
scramble. November is unsettling,
something pending, maybe danger,
maybe just a year
folded up.
Cold threads bones like spider silk,
a threat, a synthesis, urgent, spoiling
for a fight
before collapse.
Mercedes Lawry has published poetry in such journals as Poetry, Nimrod, and Prairie Schooner. She’s published three chapbooks, the latest, In The Early Garden With Reason, was selected by Molly Peacock for the 2018 WaterSedge Chapbook Contest. Her full manuscript, Small Measures, is forthcoming from Twelve Winters Press. She’s also published short fiction and stories and poems for children and been nominated for a Pushcart Prize five times.
