In the fall, ducks.
We have so little to go on—
the need for clowns, their sorrow
dressed up to help us somehow
endure. In the fall
ducks tattoo their flight overhead
saying, saying. What are the signs
of wonder? We move through the house
from cellar to attic
in a counter-clockwise direction
as if we could unwind time.
As if. In the fall
ducks crack the evening’s silence.
They sound morning’s
first cry, look up—
nothing insignificant in the fall.
Clowns make me weep.
We have so little to go on.
©
is the author of Her Name is Juanita, These Metallic Days, and Some Odd Afternoon. These poems appear in Some Odd Afternoon, which is forthcoming from BlazeVOX.
Ashton is editor of the DMQ Review, and blogs at Poetry on a Stick.
We’ve published five more poems by Ashton: “Rapture,” “Donkeys also make good guard animals.,” “Same donkey, different blanket.,” “Christ,” and “This Lonesome.”
