Luftmensch

Wait. Don't tell me.
Let me think

of a jewel sifted

from the canyons in Arizona,

the feathers plucked

from a chicken, or the

last letter in a crossword

puzzle.

Let me think.

Perhaps, it is the scowl

sketched on the faces of grouchy men

after they lose a game of chess, or

a Germanic tribe that crafts pottery

from molten lava and beetlejuice. It could

be vast or finite, vibrant

and fierce or bland

and docile. It could.

The click sends

my thoughts away.

Google doesn’t speculate. It punches

me in the gut and sends me on

my way, facts in hand, wonder

pushed in deep.

Categories: Maggie, Poetry