Poem of the Week, by Mike White

IMG_0696A few years ago, from my front porch, I watched an enormous, dark turtle labor its way across Emerson Avenue. It was winter. Snow and ice and slush. A giant turtle? Then the scene resolved itself; the turtle was not a turtle but an old man who had fallen and was trying to crawl to the curb.

I ran out and helped him up and got his walker securely situated. He refused my offer of a ride and carried on down the sidewalk. Sometimes the world turns itself inside out for a few seconds and you stand there entirely confounded. All you can do is wait, and wonder, and let yourself be amazed.


Wind, by Mike White

Not a remarkable wind. 
So when the bistro’s patio umbrella 
blew suddenly free and pitched 
into the middle of the road, 
it put a stop to the afternoon. 

Something white and amazing 
was blocking the way. 

A waiter in a clean apron 
appeared, not quite 
certain, shielding his eyes, wary 
of our rumbling engines. 

He knelt in the hot road, 
making two figures in white, one 
leaning over the sprawled, 
broken shape of the other, 
creaturely, great-winged, 
and now so carefully gathered in.




For more information about Mike White, please check out his website.

My websiteMy blogMy Facebook page.
Twitter and Instagram: @alisonmcgheewriter 

One comment

  1. April Halprin Wayland · March 2, 2020

    Oh, how I relate to this! When I’m using my twenties, I wandered down to the Santa Monica Pier at dusk. It appeared as if the people in a bar I passed were peering into viewing machines, watching some kind of movie. I was fascinated. I wonder what they were seeing. I wondered how much it cost and if I had to stand in line. I went closer, thinking I might pay to see them too, until I stopped and realized no, no they were filming a movie in the bar! These were movie camera men, not bar patrons. I understand how you had to blink and then blink again to see reality.


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