{"id":37117,"date":"2024-11-30T11:10:52","date_gmt":"2024-11-30T19:10:52","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/test-inside.ewu.edu\/willowspringsmagazine\/?p=37117"},"modified":"2025-02-07T11:30:41","modified_gmt":"2025-02-07T19:30:41","slug":"three-poems-by-kathleen-flenniken","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/test-inside.ewu.edu\/willowspringsmagazine\/three-poems-by-kathleen-flenniken\/","title":{"rendered":"Three Poems by Kathleen Flenniken"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"Issue<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Found in <\/strong>Willow Springs <\/em><\/strong>94<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\n\n\nhttps:\/\/test-inside.ewu.edu\/willowspringsmagazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/332\/2024\/11\/1960s-Skies-1.wav<\/a><\/audio>\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

1960s Skies<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Not particular clouds but their motion
               against a blue     tinged with leaded gasoline<\/p>\n\n\n

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                                          rolling clouds      muscular as turbines<\/p>\n\n\n\n

the moon      an eyebrow raised over a sagebrush sea<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

             night satellites        like calm and distant octopi
                            drifting over my sleeping bag         in my first backyard <\/p>\n\n\n\n

wind       and the voices inside the wind
                        remembered skies are made of<\/p>\n\n\n\n

                                                           socked in   under a dome
                                                                            painted to look like sky<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\nhttps:\/\/test-inside.ewu.edu\/willowspringsmagazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/332\/2024\/11\/Late-November.mp3<\/a><\/audio>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Late November<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Time slips at twilight,
loses its grip<\/p>\n\n\n\n

on puddles outside
the coffee shop window<\/p>\n\n\n\n

and raggedy blinds
across the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It pulls me out the door
for the last measure of light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here, somewhere near,
meaning blinks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

like a secret animal in its burrow.
It\u2019s now. It\u2019s fifty years ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Crows start arriving to roost,
raucous as usual.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Crows, won\u2019t you quit?
Leave. Let me be.

A bird or an answer
darts out of the dusk,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

calling me to dinner
in Mother\u2019s lost voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\nhttps:\/\/test-inside.ewu.edu\/willowspringsmagazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/332\/2024\/11\/The-Cat-is-Missing-Day-Eight.mp3<\/a><\/audio>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE CAT IS MISSING, DAY
EIGHT<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

and I     for lack of ideas
scramble randomly<\/p>\n\n\n\n

into a grove of trees
two blocks from home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My stumbling entrance
then silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A twig snaps in the undergrowth.
Then everything green goes still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No missing
that animal spirit<\/p>\n\n\n\n

frozen under ground cover
and boughs<\/p>\n\n\n\n

received as an SOS
a bioluminescence of fear<\/p>\n\n\n\n

brighter than the animal
it belongs to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once in a European basilica
I felt     I\u2019ll call it a shape<\/p>\n\n\n\n

and tried to meet it
arms lifted as though<\/p>\n\n\n\n

dressing in the dark
unsure of which or how to<\/p>\n\n\n\n

arm hole or button
or if the garment could fit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chester    were you
transubstantiated<\/p>\n\n\n\n

from always hungry
annoying and sweet<\/p>\n\n\n\n

to priestlike
by a week of nights<\/p>\n\n\n\n

under these alders
and how long do I<\/p>\n\n\n\n

stand here
trying to find out?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s twilight.
The trees are black belfries.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Birds swing the incense
of their songs in arcs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They know
I\u2019m the weakest of believers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They know
what happened to Chester<\/p>\n\n\n\n

but will never tell.
We couldn\u2019t care less<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

they warble
heartless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And beautiful May is unstoppable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


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