Salome Magazine
covenant dance chamber archives gatekeeper
LAce Posted Monday, January 7th, 2008
Karen and I Go Driving in the Spring
Lisa J. Cihlar

Marcia told me there is a skunk
in the neighborhood.
Her husband saw it and so did the lady
who lives across the road.

So far I havenít even got
a whiff of it
and our house is the one all the wild
animals visit to eat cat food left
on the deck
for the feral cats that think they belong to us.

We have had raccoons, opossums,
a woodchuck, chipmunks,
that donít last long with the cats around,
and one day,
in the rain, a peacock ran through the yard.

The next spring we found feathers
and a few bones in the ditch,
but how do you save a peacock
in November when it is raining,
almost snowing?

I got my driverís license
when I was sixteen and Karen
and I would drive out in the spring
on South Lake Michigan Drive,
just off County U,
looking for skunk cabbage flowers
in the little melt holes they make in the snow
by some sort of internal heat.

We would always rip one open
in the car and let the smell
fill the space with the windows closed.

Comments [post a comment]

Posted by Donia Carey on Tuesday, January 8th, 2008 at 1:50 AM
Lovely, Lisa, how you've captured the feeling of spring and being young, in this short poem. I love the image of the peacock streaking through with its beauty and impermanence, and then the reality and reliability of the skunk cabbage. Thank you.

Posted by david coyote [ ] on Tuesday, January 8th, 2008 at 11:24 AM
I'm quicky taken away on your journey - through time and place - through awakened memories - your poems are an Aladin's magic carpet. Thank you for taking me with you.

© Copyright 2002 Salome Magazine. All rights reserved. email gatekeeper