William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings


Stars and clouds. The moon a sliver, upon which rests its round shadow. Nearby, within just a few million miles, Venus. Air cool, immaculate. A light rain, then no rain. At the top of the hill, while looking up at the stars, I see a string of lights, which at first glance look like more stars. The lights, though, are moving. For the most part, they are evenly spaced. They appear from out of the mist, travel northeast for a few seconds through a patch of clear sky, then disappear behind clouds, the way jewels on a necklace disappear into soft, scented hair. There are about forty in all. They are too near the earth to be stars, too many and too quick to be satellites. Accompanied by a dull moan, they are military jets. How vulnerable we are. At this very moment, there are bombs falling on innocent children, missiles being fired into villages and towns. Today it is in Armenia; tomorrow, next week, next year, it will be somewhere else, all in the name of men nursing their hatred, while other men behind the scenes agree on the best way to protect and expand their wealth, and little boys and girls wave flags, blame others, and vote. Hello, world. Hello, philodendron on the front step. Hello, lacy fern. Hello, jade plant. I love you all; I love you, who vote for the rain and the moon and the stars.

October 14, 2020


[ 900 ]

Categories: New Poems & Pieces

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,