Richard Widerkehr
Bird Calls At Twilight Near The Y Road
As we pass this small girl playing
with a yellow toy shovel on her lawn,
I think of my sister who no longer sleeps
with the moon in her cardboard box.
At least Chloe has her own place.
When I asked if she remembers
throwing cut grass near Barnstable,
how we laughed, she said, Don't ask.
In Hebrew, holy means separate.
Between one dusk and another,
birds we can't see, this wet grass—
the girl builds her separate house.
Bio
Richard Widerkehr's work has appeared at Muse Pie Press, Writer's Almanac, Verse Daily, and others. He earned his M.A. from Columbia University and won two Hopwood first prizes for poetry at the University of Michigan. His latest book is In The Presence Of Absence (MoonPath Press). He has three chapbooks and a novel, Sedimental Journey (Tarragon Books). His new book, At The Grace Cafe, is forthcoming from Main Street Rag.