I came across a slim paperback volume of poems by Michael Hettich titled, Flock and Shadow: New and Selected Poems [811.6 HET]. I know nothing about Hettich, so I'll have to spend a little time later looking at his website.
In flipping through Flock and Shadow, I found some of the poems to be strange to say the least. That's not to say that I didn't like what I read, it's just that reading them was a challenge since I'm a rather literal person. However, the picture this poem paints is amazing!
In a town at the base of a hill, hidden
under tall grass, nestled in the roots
of a blossoming fruit tree, two boys play catch.
Each time they throw they grow older, taller,
more like their fathers, and each time they catch
they grow young again. The sound of the ball
in their mitts, no steady rhythm,
wakes sisters from window, from flowers, and soon
the girls are running bases between their brothers,
who throw the ball higher as their sisters
run faster in their white dresses, blurring
into one girl, who turns as she runs
out of breath, into butterflies and tiny birds
that fly in circles around the boys' heads
and away across the endless fields.
Head over to Semicolon where Sherry is hosting this week's Poetry Friday Round-Up.
Photo by photofarmer.