magpie's shiny things

Eavesdropping


Eavesdropping

I hear, I overhear,

I listen 
to the swallows, the creek, a truck climbing the hill.
their songs collide and spill over 
	the dam of my ears.

I hear the dawn song of the birds, the dusk song
of the little frogs, the night songs, 
all the night songs.
	Owls call to their mates and
	trees creak as they rub their branches together.

I would listen to your prayers but
there are no listening gods.
There are only the all seeing stars.
A spiral galaxy that makes no sound 
as it spreads its arms
to take up the universe’s undoing.

Listen, we have reached the end of our poem
it winds down like a unsprung watch,
registering its last few beats,
second hand twitching to a stop.

Published on The Laundry Line, October 14, 2025.

just before moonrise

just before moonrise

a stoat
waits for the
shrike to impale
its prey on the
thorns of the pyracantha. 
not above a bit of petty theft,
the cat sneaks off with an 
appetizer.

Published on The Laundry Line, 7 Oct, 2025.

track and field


track and field

there was a guy in high school.
who threw the shot,
he had his own weird dance.

it began with the cold metal tucked under his chin
	the thud of his first step
		a spiraling, rising action
			until the sphere was thrust away
									shoved out
to meet the world. 
	pushing through the air
		to land in the sand;
			making a little puff of dust. 

then the boy—bent over, his breath stopped,
his heart beat slowing,
squinted down the track
	looking for the marker,
		seeing his future.

	how could we think that he was not graceful?
	that he was not beautiful?

when we could see the love in his eyes and thrust of his heart.

Published on the Laundry Line, 30 September, 2025.

in autumn

in autumn

yellow moon
	becomes
amber mum
	becomes
question of bridges that go nowhere
	becomes
smell of paper, hot out of the printer
	becomes 
something golden that 
was alive just yesterday
but today smells newly, richly dead.

Originally published in Door is a Jar (Spring 2019.)
Published on The Laundry Line, Sept 16, 2025.

Jackass Flats

Jackass Flats

is just that sort of town.

Airless summers, 
broke down cotton buggies,
a faded Texaco sign 
outside a
cinder block building.

Two work bays and a 
service counter with a 
rack of slumped candy bars and a 
stack of Skoal tins
all but one of them wintergreen.

You can get gas in Jackass Flats
if you have cash and luck.

Luck is always standing on the side of the road
with its thumb out
looking for a bumper to ride 

to some other town with a 
Conoco station and 
unflavored Skoal in the mechanic's back pocket.

First published in PanoplyZine, 2017.
Published on The Laundry Line, September 9, 2025.