Poems
by Diane Webster

 

Cascading Rust

 

Rust pockmarks

the white car’s hood

as it cascades

over the edge –

look out

double-paned window,

notice flies burrowed

through a slit

to warm themselves

in sunshine captured

only to die,

to pile up bodies

between inside

outside panes

like rust spots

marching over

the curvatures of a car.

 

 

 

 

 

Another Flutter

 

Aspen leaves surround

the lake’s shore …

an Aloha lei worn

until wilted petals

surrender, drop

like autumn leaves.

 

Like fallen leaves

weighted in water

sink another flutter

to lie in silt to change

shade to decay brown …

one more Aloha.

 

 

 

 

 

Pond Shore

 

Blade of grass not yet tall enough

to stand with the others

above the water in thin shadows

 

looks like a shark’s fin stationary

awaiting the ripple of fear

to descend the others’ stems

 

and shiver across the surface

when currents bend the grass

below in disappearance.

 

 

 

 

 

Tipped Over

 

Beside the closed door a stool sits

like it knocked, and no one answered;

so it sits awaiting the owner’s return.

 

The visitor’s ears listen to bent knees

popping, creaking close-by loud

until footsteps echo down the sidewalk.

 

The visitor leans sideways

onto the sidewalk closer than standing.

On hands and knees he wobbles

upright to greet the closed-door owner,

but only a neighbor passes by.

 

Beside the closed door a stool lies

as if tipped over by a stray cat

rubbing against its legs.

 

 

 

 

 

Memory Blossoms

 

The sidewalk path 

of fallen 

crabapple blossoms

was created just for me 

on my morning walk.

 

Carried to work

on my shoe’s sole

a petal wilts

on the carpet.

 

Two days later

petal dust blends

with other shoe

detritus, but memory

blooms blossoms

forever.

 

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