Like Lightning
If the myths are to be believed
there is no delight which lasts.
The beautiful grow old then die.
Children experience snow
for the first time, once, then never again.
Passion itself can only take us so far.
It guides us through the fields
of indulgence to abandon us
inside a constellation lit valley
beneath the crimson-throated chortle
of cuckoo. Leaves us there
repeating why, why, why, like a
rich-man-turned-beggar, hunched
off to the side of the pavement
as pedestrians pass or step around him.
Few loves become like the Moon.
Most become like lightning. Or,
if we’re lucky, like the clamoring of
excited hens. Wild, and echoing
for hours and hours through the thundering
night. Then echoing even after that.
*
tc Wiggins is an African American poet residing in Cincinnati, Ohio who has been writing since the August of 2022. His favorite writers and inspirations are Jack Gilbert, Linda Gregg, Mary Oliver, Maggie Smith, Victoria Chang and Wendy Cope. tc suffers from chronic (if not terminal) boredom. You should send him poems to read, preferably your own. His Instagram handle is scaringthemuse.
Myths are powerful, but happy denial is what gets us through. Keep the faith, keep writing. Poetry, like water, is life!
. Loves “like the clamoring of excited hens.” How original, tc! Enjoyed this a lot.
Beautiful images. I also liked “the clamoring of excited hens.”