Two Poems by Keith Leonard
When you draw shapes in the night sky,
it will help if you remember
that your pencil passes through matter
we can’t see, or name, but know exists.
It will help if you imagine the bright spots
as your parents, your past lovers,
or enemies. Perhaps you will draw
a bull out of your string of breakups,
then use three stars to draw a spear.
By your senior year, you should be able
to outline at least one flower
while studying the history
of dictators. No dippers.
We have enough of those.
The sky is full of reservoirs.
We’ve noticed the sad have a strange desire
to draw things patriotic - the flag
with its flat bars draping the hemisphere,
or a bald eagle with its wide wings
grazing both horizons. It will help
if you resist the craving to claim
the whole sky. It’s rude, frankly,
and you will be unpopular.
Most importantly, you’ll miss
what happens when the many
separate shapes intertwine.
In the water left from the waitress’s rag,
I made James’s face:
pinched salt for the scar
below the eyebrow,
a fleck of pepper for a freckle,
bent straw for the bridge of the nose.
The trouble with my over-easy eggs
was their thin skins broke
with the touch of a butter knife.
The trouble with my coffee
was it took the cream and changed.
The trouble with me is I can arrange
three words however I please:
this isn’t it
It isn’t this
Isn’t it this
Isn’t this it
by Keith Leonard, Ramshackle Ode