Angela, reading a poem

   by Jeanie Tomasko

 

Watch the bee work the wild roses in June, how she sips from the deep cups

with her slow straw, how she gathers pollen on her small, black legs,

how she flies off, drunk on gold.

 

There is the slightest pause before water wraps around stone. You, too, must learn

to bow. Watch the monks from Tibet tap colored sand to make the mandala.

 

The aim of the hummingbird is quick and precise.

The trudge of the turtle, heavy with eggs, is also precise.

 

Have you seen a fly-fisherman sail his line back and forth, back and forth,

then straight to the mouth of the shy brook trout?

 

Have you done, one thing in your life, carefully?

 

The flute of the wood thrush is washed and clean. Listen.

The poet, too, believes each word is a chance at passion.

 

 

                 originally published in Free Verse, Issue #91, 2007

 

 

 

 

Jeanie Tomasko is a native Madisonian who lives in Middleton with her husband, kids and cats.  She is currently working on a manuscript of ekphrastic poetry and has poems forthcoming in various journals. She likes to walk in the woods, camp, fish and birdwatch. Her favorite poets are local friends who read at Avol's, Mary Oliver and any and all writers of Haiku. 

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