William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Tag Archive for ‘Sky’

A Splash and a Wish

No one taught my father to swim. He jumped into the ditch and started paddling. A depression, a lifetime, a war, a family later, he climbed out of the water and waved from the bank on the other side. He waved and he waved, and faded to shade, in the flesh with the fish, a splash and a wish, a breeze, the sky, a door. And then we couldn’t see […]

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Release

Blue sky? Warmth? Is it possible? What a strange dream. Moss is growing on the dahlia bed. The maples are an odd sort of green. Can those be leaves? Pinch yourself. Yes, those are nests in the trees. Look again. The last of your thoughts are blowing to sea. There they go. Back to the ether. No need for me. . [ 1729 ]

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Thee and Me

Now, with so much joy in one dandelion, imagine the collective power of every blade of grass, every tree, every drop of rain, and the sky full of stars. Then imagine the joy in thee and me. To say it another way, the only thing that can come between ourselves and the universe, and everything near and beyond, is the hardened assumption that we are superior or inferior, right or […]

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Unnamable The

Not many days ago, and an equally uncertain number of nights, I read backward and aloud the last page of Samuel Beckett’s The Unnamable. Standing before our big front window, paced by the commas, I read the words slowly and with feeling. When I reached the top of the page, I wondered if the author might not have done the same thing himself. It’s possible he could even have written […]

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Blue Sky Cry

Health, leisure, good fortune, and very modest means. Blueberries, and other transitory things. No desire to possess or own. Catkins and birch-bits. Sunflowers. Bees. Cucumbers. The spider in my hair, taken back outside. Aware — yes, aware — there are troubles in the world. Hunger. Suffering. Violence. Greed. Pain. Wildfire. Drought. Climate change. The poses we assume. The lies we tell. The games we play. Aware — yes, aware — […]

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Skunk Detail

When I turned on the front step light at 4:30 this morning, the skunk seemed only mildly surprised. It wasn’t on the step, just a few feet beyond. It sniffed the air and peered at me through its thick glasses, then moved off into the darkness, toward the pine. Careful alert regard, mutual curiosity — I’ve known friendships to begin this way. Another way is the wondrous miracle of instant […]

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Funny Little Hole

Vivid blue sky and great white clouds — not too warm for an afternoon walk, but far too bright without the shade of a wide-brimmed straw hat; temporarily blinded, though, by a stretch of new sidewalk. An impromptu soup of garlic, onion, purple kale, potato (one of which was baked yesterday, the other raw) and white kidney beans (cannellini, it says on the can); olive oil; salt; pepper; a generous […]

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