Ellen
 
beachcomber lucks out with a metal detector
reorders sand grains, superbly trained
rearranged to precise atomic clock
second hand sweeps, second hand news
 
newly fledged, fleshed out with bottle tops
fishhooks, oxidized grommets, gravel by now
frustrated, not finding the golden horde
heard from in heated diatribes
 
tribal, too loose, Edgar Degas places
a glass of absinthe before Ellen Andrée
perpetually lured to model in the lost,
languid corner of the Nouvelle Athènes
 
the alarm beeps, she’s found the gold
she tells, she’s told this story before
the land her ancestors ploughed, long before
buried metallic promises became de rigueur
 
[RK, 7/29/22]
 
 
 
Witching Hour
 
four a.m. and just past the witching hour
no rustling leaves, no owls calling
 
air conditioner runs like horses, jacking up the utility bill
will the President cancel part of my loan?
 
the garden by porch light rests in abeyance
tantalizing moths and beetles, no whip-poor-will perched
 
morning songbirds and anoles will take their rightful places
lacking given names, they become interchangeable and generic
 
[RK, 7/30/22]