Waiting for Music

Tight buds loosen

and tiny fists bring

gifts: new leaves

pea green and shy.

The leaves will become

uncountable chimes

played and replayed

by the rusting wind.

Listen to the earth’s first

music, lovely and common

like the beating of rain

or the beating of hearts.

 from Ordinary Things: Poems from a Walk in Early Spring

Wildflowers

Help wanted: sturdy individual

interested in grassroots work

at a number of rugged locations

(cliffs, desert, some tundra).

Good benefits. Must be strong

and adaptable, self-starter,

persistent, willing to relocate,

with no fear of high places

and no known allergies

to bees.

Owl pellets? They’re fascinating, for sure, but they’re also rather gruesome and a little bit gross. Owl pellets are about the unlikeliest subject for a love poem—maybe that’s why this poem has always been one of my personal favorites.

Owl Pellets

                           by Ralph Fletcher         

A month ago

in biology lab

you sat close to me

knee touching mine

your sweet smell

almost drowning out

the formaldehyde stink

which crinkled up

your nose

while I dissected

our fetal pig.

Now I take apart

this owl pellet

small bag that holds

skin and hair and bones

little skeletons

what the owl ate

but couldn’t digest

and coughed back up.

You sit with Jon Fox

ignore me completely

laugh at his dumb jokes

let your head fall onto

his bony shoulder

while I attempt

to piece together

with trembling hands

the tiny bones

of a baby snake.

Certain things 

are just about

impossible

to swallow. 

                 from I Am Wings: Poems About Love