The Last Light
October 18th, 2009 § Leave a Comment
"On the surface light shrinks, a wound healing."
A ruddy duck pumps the dusk out,
its blue bill spilling the last light.
I’m alone with it. Its cheek,
white as an eye rolled back, but wider,
pushes the rest of its body
into the darkness, bullies shadows
near the dugout’s muddy edge.
Can one ever be too territorial?
Between outbursts, the bird faces east, its back
turned to certain beauty. There
cattails swab the eye while weed tips wick
the sky puddles. Perhaps this dugout is nothing
more than a nick, a gouge
fleshed with the usual reflections.
Everything is upside-down
as it should be: the predictable
reach of tree
clouds
the belly of the grebe as it dives
into itself – all the things I want
now to pull my eyes away from
still edged with a red I cannot name.
You said I’d see it here, but its sound
finds me first, finds me waiting, as if it believes
the coming listens only to what it cannot see.
On the surface light shrinks, a wound healing,
and into its centre, its diminishment, the duck swims.
Spinning on inversions, it calls again.
From a reservoir across the road
an answer.________________________
This poem by Brenda Schmidt caught my eye as I was going on one of my sporadic deep-trawls through the archives of Nthposition. Evocative, beautiful, but not remotely twee. Pretty impressive for a poem about a humble fowl and in tone somewhat reminiscent of the brilliant Barry Lopez. Thumbs up. Why not support a poet and small publishing house and buy one of her books if you liked the piece…
