David A. Goodrum
I turn the plants by the window
and repot them at night,
soil, sand and perlite
to correct their bending
from the days before,
like a cloud percolating
in search of storms
as yet unformed,
and in lieu of sleeping
under the shade of night,
I blunder side-eyed,
drained and dream baffled,
time stretched nerve tight,
both devils and angels
trumpeting (in the effluent darkness
before dawn) entwining disinhibitions,
my grasping at imaginary sparks
and involuntary gathering of straw,
a wedge of light from the mind’s open door,
the grass above the septic
always the lushest part of the lawn.
***
David A. Goodrum was born, raised, and educated in Indiana, and now lives in Corvallis, Oregon. His poems are forthcoming or have been published in Spillway, New Plains Review, The Nebraska Review, The Louisville Review, Gryphon, Windfall, and other journals.