Margaret King
The Disappearance
Folks on the street want to talk about the weather
But they don't really want to talk about the weather, if you know what I mean.
The most innocuous topic of conversation
Has also become the most urgent
“What a nice day out!”
“But have you noticed the ash trees have been cut down?”
Our town looks different now
The forests have thinned
We no longer feel sheltered or protected
Can't my neighbor see the razed tree trunks--reduced to infected firewood--
Piled up everywhere?
The odd bird whose call disappears as soon as you try to listen to it
You've never heard that bird around here before
As soon as you try to identify it falls silent
You’ll never hear it again
And now when I see an ash tree still alive
I want to fall at its feet and weep
Water its roots with my tears
They were all around me
And I never started noticing them
Until they started dying, en masse.
This parking lot along the lake used to be public
We never even had to think about it
Like an old habit, on especially foggy or scenic or wave-smashed days
I automatically drive there
And I'm still surprised by the "Customer Parking Only" signs.
Like the evicted eastern bluebirds
Who had to ask themselves
Is there a plan B?
Is there a planet B?
The land, the land
The lake, the lane
The sky, the sky
Customers only.
First Hot Day of the Year
The first hot day of the year
We swelter and swoon
Unused to the heat
And so it is
When we feel loved
For the first time in a long while
I sit on the park bench
And don't notice
The summer sun
Burning my ears
The Disappearance
Folks on the street want to talk about the weather
But they don't really want to talk about the weather, if you know what I mean.
The most innocuous topic of conversation
Has also become the most urgent
“What a nice day out!”
“But have you noticed the ash trees have been cut down?”
Our town looks different now
The forests have thinned
We no longer feel sheltered or protected
Can't my neighbor see the razed tree trunks--reduced to infected firewood--
Piled up everywhere?
The odd bird whose call disappears as soon as you try to listen to it
You've never heard that bird around here before
As soon as you try to identify it falls silent
You’ll never hear it again
And now when I see an ash tree still alive
I want to fall at its feet and weep
Water its roots with my tears
They were all around me
And I never started noticing them
Until they started dying, en masse.
This parking lot along the lake used to be public
We never even had to think about it
Like an old habit, on especially foggy or scenic or wave-smashed days
I automatically drive there
And I'm still surprised by the "Customer Parking Only" signs.
Like the evicted eastern bluebirds
Who had to ask themselves
Is there a plan B?
Is there a planet B?
The land, the land
The lake, the lane
The sky, the sky
Customers only.
First Hot Day of the Year
The first hot day of the year
We swelter and swoon
Unused to the heat
And so it is
When we feel loved
For the first time in a long while
I sit on the park bench
And don't notice
The summer sun
Burning my ears
Margaret King is a Wisconsin author who enjoys penning poetry, short stories, and novellas. Her recent work has appeared in Nightingale & Sparrow, VampCat Magazine, Ghost City Press, Bombus Press, and Mojave He(art) Review. She is also the author of the poetry collection Isthmus.