Nightlight Sonata
beyond the sliding glass door
is the area
the small rectangle of bright
cut against obscurity
laid onto underbrush and clods of soil
in which i hope to see
a raccoon
but which raccoon would be foolish enough to stumble across
this electric clearing;
this window of risk
the plants, crusted by fall
might telegraph his position
to the masters of the monolith
the ones who leave the feast each night
sweet with rotten stench and things with
strange shapes
so that little raccoons might touch the cans
with spidery thin paws and wonder
what lies beyond the sliding glass door
the hour is late and I
bring a chair to the door-window
still nothing
are these lands bare of all life
the trash cans are on the
other side of the house
why would a crepuscular
man-rat even come here
to this square of space and time
beyond the sliding glass door
rustles in the floral rows
a chipmunk
if they were uglier, reminded us less of
our own babies
we might call this time of year
an infestation
a deer in the driveway, leading her spawn
into the wall of devil’s tails
across the yard
they’re not what i am looking
for
but she leaves an imprint on the air
an impression not unlike a stencil
unbidden, my mind conjures
the image of a car pulling through
on the asphalt pavement thunderpath
i leave the sliding glass door
i creep around the side of the house and
i near the corner where the
trash cans and recycling cans sit
tweedledee and tweedledum, waiting
to take the load of our fallout
off our minds
there’s a raccoon. there
he is
eating our half-truths
but he’s not where i
it’s not where i want it
the spot by the door is unattended
the glass of water seeps through the floorboards
and trickles down into mulch
beyond the sliding glass door
- Chuck
Posted Oct 27, 2022, 9:41 PM UTC · edited