Before the end, bees disappear
and mosquitoes and love bugs
but gray-haired couples push
babies in three-wheeled strollers
with room to jog behind.
There are many sunny days
but no rain, except when thunderless
storms travel behind graceless winds.
Then towns disappear and cows
lodge in trees stripped of leaves.
Small children dance nightly
in circles, palms locked on
naked thighs, mouse ears
pressed to sky. Birds sing all night.
At one a.m. meadowlarks, at three
anemic crows, by five sparrows.
Across the sea, a soldier fires his last bullet
into a bleached skull too large
to be human. The sound is immense,
greater than stars or sea waves.
I was fortunate to meet Tia Ballantine at a recent poetry reading. Tia was one of the readers and I was introduced to her poetry. Tia has been around the block writing poetry, with many years behind her polished words and clean lines of open verse.
Tia has been writing poetry for close to forty years, with four collections in hand and a possibility of another to follow, with sufficient impetus. She has had four chapbooks printed, before the advent of digital printing, and on that ground I am encouraging her to think of following that path to publishing. This poem begins further posting of her work to come. Stay tuned.