SOUTH AGAIN, NORTH AGAIN

SOUTH AGAIN, NORTH AGAIN
 susan ambrosino

SOUTH AGAIN

It's a pointless activity, knitting another scarf

that you could just as well go out and buy─

but the meditation is needed,

knit one, knit one, knit one, over and over,

it keeps you in the moment─

suddenly you feel the balcony breeze,

sense the life flashing through your flesh,

hear the mourning doves, the palm fronds sway,

the swoosh from the interstate a mile away,

there’s a train passing in the distance,

a punctuation of calling from an unknown songbird

immediately answered by its mate,

while your hands keep busy, knitting, knitting, knitting. 

You often arrive late at night, after a long drive,

having eaten road food for two days,

a headache in back of your eyes,

a bad taste in your mouth,

indigestion,

and a crunched tailbone from sitting too long

staring at the interstate,

but there’s something about driving,

perhaps the pointless continuity of moving forward in a straight line,

like knitting,

seeming to go nowhere,

then,

having savored the monotony,

you finally arrive.

NORTH AGAIN

So what if the moon has a crooked smile

you notice through the back seat window

as dawn is just about to broaden her brightening stare

on all of you driving to the plane

that will bring you away from the last perfect Florida day.

The songbird singing in the yellow-flowered tree

at the darkest moment before dawn

bragged her amazing vocabulary,

raised you to listen,

rushed you into the day

that would return you to a cold reaching between your ribs,

your neck, wrists, face,

its own extensive vocabulary

describing the degrees below a certain point.

So why does the southern moon

have only a crooked smile

to send you north today ?