Are You Aware You Speak in Iambs?
with thanks to K.M.
You taught me the two-step
on a downtown sidewalk in August
to the rhythms of Frost and Dickinson,
clasping my hands and tracing
my hesitant footsteps. You said
poems were full of symbols.
You ask me what the star in my poem means.
Sometimes, a star is nothing more
than a star. Sometimes
symbolism is overrated.
You made me recite
Ogden Nash with my bedtime prayers
while kneeling, both of us with bowed heads
and folded hands.
But stars darken and leave
hesitant holes in the sky
when August dawns ascend
and blur their light into sunrise.