Poetry Sunday: Midsummer by Arthur Sze

Sitting in my backyard today, I watched tiger swallowtails hovering over Russian sage and thought, "Didn't I read that in a poem?" I asked my friend, Google, and sure enough! There it was. Maybe my old brain hasn't deteriorated so much after all. "Neither you nor I can stop the planting of mines in a field or the next detonation," but at least we have poetry - and tiger swallowtails - to comfort us.

Midsummer

by Arthur Sze

Tiger swallowtails hover over Russian sage—
I smell eucalyptus where there is no

eucalyptus and locate summer in rain.

Like bats emerging out of a cave at dusk,

a thread of grief unfurls in the sky.

Neither you nor I can stop the planting

of mines in a field or the next detonation.

I unclog a drip line along a fence;

in May, lilacs arced over the road in a cascade

of purple blossoms. Now, stilled in a minute

of darkness, I listen to bamboo leaves

unfurl above into sunshine. Untangling

a necklace composed of interlocking

gold chains, then lifting it, I trace

joy, fear, bewilderment, bliss, a this

resplendent in my fingertips. I slip inside

a strawberry runner that extends root, leaf,

then stand in morning starlight and inhabit a song.

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