William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Tag Archive for ‘Spring’

Tea and Oranges

Fennel seed tea with just a bit of blackberry honey: a timely cure for all the physical and mental ailments of which I remain unaware. On the path beyond Goose Lake, we came to a place where a tree was down, blocking our way. Just inside the network of slender bare branches, there were two brown rabbits. They kept their eyes on us as we made the long way around. […]

Continue Reading →

Pale Wisps and Blossom Clouds

This spring, everything that blooms has bloomed heavily, in scented blossom clouds. Last spring it was the opposite, a sparse bloom in pale wisps, like an invalid’s dry cough, or a storm that disperses before it arrives. It rained again last night. At six this morning, the trees were dripping in the bright sunlight. At the top of the hill, even the old one-sided maple looked like it was in […]

Continue Reading →

Love Child

Here I am, barefoot in my shoes, walking through cottonwoods to the sweet sound of running water — and I think, The leaves and the breeze have given birth to a daughter. [ 756 ]

Continue Reading →

Harvest

A barefoot journal, written entirely outdoors — why have I never done such a thing? This afternoon, within five minutes of walking out into the warm grass in front of the house, I was renewed and restored. Whatever the time of year, I’m in the habit of going barefoot inside — but it’s not the same. Five hours or five lifetimes — carpet is carpet, tile is tile, vinyl is […]

Continue Reading →

Winter Trees

“The bird names have trapped me. They exist in a realm of unsolvable mysteries: the realm of nothing more than connotation. And yet I want to know what the bird behind each looks like. Why? I shouldn’t care.”   Winter Trees † Feline huntress, dozing on the grass. Along the fence, a cortège of wary sparrows, each dark face a funeral card. On my lips, imagined bird names:                            Shwittl, Tikipap, […]

Continue Reading →