Just a weedy copse
no more than a brittle
coincidence of stems
mercifully sideskipped
by road crew mowers
in weeks past. Today broke
poorly and raw, meager
light filtered by overcast.
But now, on desiccated cue
parchment teardrop pods
burst in turn, propagating
this roadbank airspace
with hopeful wisps
of filamented seeds
drifting over meadows
three thousand miles north
from where Monarchs
reunite at migration’s end
having fluttered that span
at a steady walking pace
to paint their hidden
Michoacan ravines
a shimmering
orange overlay.
So much to surrender
to the airstream: the promise
of next year’s food supply
and nurseries for chrysalides;
a plainsong for right rains,
for a prodigal return
along hemispheric pathways
wrenched in simmering flux.
Silken cargo pours forth
all through the afternoon:
Shantih Shantih Shantih
this cycle anyway, for now.
–
Robbie Gamble (he/him) is the author of A Can of Pinto Beans (Lily Poetry Review Press, 2022). His poems have appeared in the Lunch Ticket, RHINO, Rust + Moth, Salamander, and The Sun. He worked for many years as a nurse practitioner caring for homeless people, and now divides his time between Boston and Vermont.
© 2023, Robbie Gamble
Halfway Down the Stairs 