Arteries of traffic, and further,
Brittle skies above town––the trail
Climbs steeply. You and I are breathless,
Dazzled by distant high-rises,
Elevated, removed from war,
Famine, and a brazen man’s
Glib tweets. Here is a simple
Hill, a chance to review plans,
Itineraries, defeats. To be humbly
Jubilant––when even snags and
Kinks are generous spaces!
Lavish houses here welcome people
Minus the riffraff. They keep out
Nagging fears and those lunatic
Oracles spelling out dismal
Predictions. A garden’s lush
Quince trumps my mother’s
Reticent tree, its sparse
Shaded blossoms. Her crammed life––
Tomorrow I’ll call, ask about the cough.
Unaware of her impediments, she
Ventures into town, greets neighbors,
Wishfully inclined to regard the
X-rays as trifling. Wouldn’t
You do the same, given a restive
Zeitgeist of upbeat connection?
Leonore Hildebrandt is the author of The Work at Hand and The Next Unknown. A third collection, Where You Happen to Be, is forthcoming with Deerbrook Editions. She has published poems and translations in the Cafe Review, Cerise Press, Cimarron Review, Denver Quarterly, Harper Palate, Poetry Daily, and Sugar House Review, among other journals. A native of Germany, Leonore lives "off the grid" in Harrington, Maine. She teaches writing at the University of Maine and serves on the Beloit Poetry Journal editorial board.