Magpies are just crows with good suits. —Phil Normand
(Those of you on Facebook may have seen these poems on the below link already, so bear with me as I introduce them. Some Holding the Light readers don’t indulge in old people’s social media.)
There is wildlife in the city. We have the ubiquitous grey squirrel, imported by an Englishman for sport, may his name live in infamy. We have the occasional raccoon and Cooper’s hawk, bunnies in backyards. Daily, we tend to the commonplace: sparrows, crows and magpies, those champion scavengers. Magpies come in a mischief, usually, eight or a dozen of them, raucous and hard to ignore during their sojourn on the block. Two of the poems here concern them.
A little country lingers in the city also: my neighbor’s cherry tree bows over the fence into my yard, a placement I’ve profited from over the years. Cherry harvesting is subject of another poem, along with its likeness to writing practice. One poem comes from dream, uses the clichéd metaphors the unconscious likes so well. Guilt and grief never completely end, though you may think they will: that poem is a resurfacing, of the kind that recurs throughout life.
Bristlecone is a new online poetry magazine and everything in this issue and the previous two I’ve read is excellent work. Give it a read.
Finally, my MacBook Pro is going away for battery replacement and may be gone several days or longer. I’m scared. Don’t usually live without it. Expect no writing from me for a time. I used to be able to write by hand, but that is a distant memory.