June 21: Poetry in the Air, Waiting for Donald Hall, New Poem

Play me some Jimmy Buffett!

Tonight, there is poetry in the air again.  My wife and I are attending the final event at the university for Donald Hall.  It's going to be some sort of panel discussion between Hall and two other poets--Ellen Airgood and Ander Monson. 

Before we go to this event, however, my wife and I are going to a local Mexican restaurant to listen to some friends play in a band.  It is the second date night my wife and I have had this week.  That's one more actual date than we've had in the last six months.  We're feeling a little like teenagers sneaking out for a quickie on the beach or something.

Anyway, I don't have much else to add.  I did write a new poem last night while waiting for Donald Hall to begin reading.  Oddly enough, it's about waiting for Donald Hall.

Saint Marty is ready for some margheritas.

Waiting for Donald Hall

Is like looking out the kitchen window
     at fists of clouds,
Wondering when those fingers
     will relax,
When bullets of water will spill
     from that palm
Of sky, sail down to black soil
     in the pumpkin patch
Where two leaves have sprouted,
     green as swamp, with promise
Of orange in their tender
     stems, a wide orange,
Full of mulch and hay, vines
     of frost on morning panes,
Candle grin of jack-o-lantern
     on All Hallow's Eve,
When souls wander all night
     in search of an open gate.

He appears in the doorway, hunched
     over his walker, shuffles
To his chair, sits, lifts his beadle
     eyes to the gathered crowd,
Clears his throat, ushers words
     to his tongue, and makes a sound

Like driftwood in Lake Superior surf.