Monday, February 28, 2011


 susan ambrosino


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,
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,
having savored the monotony,
you finally arrive.

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 ?

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