February 19, 2015

Souvenirs by Joan Cannon

Aslant on asphalt
seeming to beg for notice
lies an ebony reject from a crow.
I stoop to take it up.
Two steps more, and there
lies another, but shorter.
The pair of quills now
splayed across my palm,
when behold, I see a third
abandoned on the road.

I display them all on the windowsill.
See the gloss of anthracite
—so much blacker than the pavement
that relinquished them.

That was August; now in January
I notice they’re still blacker
than the tar from which I
picked them like exotic blossoms.
Not themselves alive, they reflect how time
strives to wear their wearers
with so much less success
than it claims with us.

Anaphora Literary Press published a collection of Joan Cannon's poems in late 2013.  She still writes for Senior Women Web. 

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