Selvage Song

(an emoji poem)


On overcast mornings, I crave small
comforts like tea or soup, a healing 
infusion of sunlight, a view of green.  

Every day we're told the world's on the brink
— It could be any day in autumn, winter. 
Rumors shadow through spring, even 

as paired swans glide with ease on clear 
water, as if toward forever. In summer
when we take trips, we pass farms 

where horses graze in fields of shimmering 
wheat. This is still the south, but desert-like days 
alternate with seasons of nor'easters that sting 

like scorpions. When streets flood, 
neighborhoods turn into islands. We huddle 
indoors, wait for the storm's wide flamenco skirts 

to settle with calmer rhythms. Some 
take out prayer beads, kneel before their gods
or saints. Elsewhere, priests and shamans

count the years since the last time 
a volcano rumbled out of sleep, the last
time people believed warnings 

written in books, old tales of deluge. 
Our ailments don't lack for diagnosis—
yet we hammer and saw down more forests,

race to build another tallest building  
to reach the fabled stars. At night 
when I wake under a tent of new terrors, 

I want to learn from the bees and spiders 
how to honeycomb my trembling cells, 
how to sew a strong and tensile web;

how to nest my heart in still pulsing coral.
Will an angel sound a trumpet made of whelk,
will a chorus of boulders sing an aria about

the rubbled earth? Fire and ice, 
cocktails and picnics by the beach—
here we are still plucking chords for music, 

playing darts, tugging on strings to keep things aloft.
There is no more fire to steal, no thunderbolt to cast
at prophets hurling their voices out of the whirlwind.
 

💨🌨️🍲
💉🏥🌏🍃☀️
🍂❄️🦢🦢
🐴🌵🦂
🏝️💃🏻📿
🧎‍♀️🗻🧮
📝📚🏥
🔨🪵
🌃⛺️
🧵🪡
🐝🕷️🕸️
🪸🐚🪨🌔⚡️
🔥🌪️🧊🥃
🪁🎼🎹🎯