Quarantine
Maybe a dozen times
or more each day--I’ve never counted--
the train rolls by, the whistle blows.
The cat in the afternoon sun
raises her sleepy head,
swipes her whiskers with her paw.
Were I to walk
beside those tracks,
that whistle might lift me
right out of my shoes,
a worn-out pair of joggers,
leave them there for
some wanderer to find
and wonder
where I went,
into air so blue
it might ache—
But I’ve lived nearby
for such a long time—years—
(not counting) if someone said,
“Hear that?”
I’d say, “Hear what?”
while underneath it all
the whistle blew like crazy
every hour, every day.
It’s the same with the birds,
how just off the edge of the porch
a flock of cedar waxwings
tumbled in from Mexico,
all full of news,
stripped the yaupon berries
off the branch, wings a fat frenzy
of feathers and discussion.
The one I named Jo Nell
seems to run the show,
bossy I’d call her.
Where has their chatter been
before--before, when the world
was old and the train ran
on time, and the whistle split
the sky in half?
Where did they go when I wasn’t there?
How could I forget the window
was always open,
waiting…
Should you walk past--
waxwing in your hat,
be sure to sing.
I’ll know the rhythm of
your footsteps.
I’ll hear the beating
of your heart.
Kathi Appelt April 7, 2020
(©Kathi Appelt. All rights reserved.)
I'm gonna let Kathi Appelt herself do all the talking today here at the blog (though I'll quickly note that if you haven't read any of her books? Change that ASAP!). Here ya go:
Note:
One of the things I’ve noticed since we’ve been sheltering in place is that things that I paid little attention to in my “normal” life, have made themselves known to me. We live less than a mile from the train tracks that run straight through town, and even though the train passes through several times a day (and night), unless I’m listening for it, I never hear it.
The other day, I was sitting on my porch, and I could hear quite a bit of birdsong. The various tunes sounded louder than usual. And then I realized that the absence of road noise from cars passing by had given the birds a space to sing. It was a hallelujah moment, made even more joyful when the cedar waxwings streamed in.
Invitation:
While we are all hunkered down, have you noticed something that you normally paid little attention to? Think of the five senses. My poem is largely about sounds. But I’ve noticed that food seems to taste a little better, smell is more pungent, things feel different. What have you noticed lately that was always there, but seems a little different now? Write about that.
