Beautiful Things

Rae Spencer11 Comments

Beautiful Things

See all the small
Beautiful things
I’ve crushed under my boots
Or my tires
Or my hurried, strident tongue

The perfection that was a beetle
Splintered because its jeweled shell
Could not bear my weight

And my regret might feel
Like a question
I haven’t the wisdom to ask

The intricate heartwork
That was a rabbit
Dashed under my tire
And left for the vultures

Who might partake of rabbit
Skin and fur and bones
Delicate answers
Ground within the gizzard
And lost

So that should I someday
Remember the question
Or think it first in a dream
Only the vulture could answer

The simplicity of “Why?”
Lost for lack of time
Or patience
Or knowledge enough of children
To know that the answer doesn’t matter

Only the voice
And the moment
And the ritual of exploration

So I offer the only answer
That addresses the question
“Because it must”

Which is also “because
I must”
Which answers all the questions
I have the wisdom to ask

Published in The 2006 Chaffin Journal

The Earth

Rae Spencer2 Comments

If there were no life
Would not the Earth
Still have beauty?

If skies were not
So blue
Nor clouds so shapely
Set against blue

If tides never rose
To purl across sand

If all were stone
Pocked with volcano
Cluttered with crater
Naked of everything air

Would not the Earth
Still have beauty
If there were no eyes

To catalogue her wonders?

How He Named Himself

Rae Spencer5 Comments

How He Named Himself

He was magician
At the back of his tongue
Language awoke
Invoked the porous senses

In example, the word “blue”
From his mouth
Fell into air
Unfurled before his eye
To fill an ocean

Or a cloudless sky
Breezed with recollection
Bitter and sweet
Like summer drowned in heat

Other words named other seasons
Spring’s flushed lovers and mothers
Fall’s jealous kings and princes
A blush of yellow stamen
Vain, reduced to bare reflection

While legions tolled to war
Because he said “winter”
And Krakatoa split
And every illness known to man
Rattled into silence

Until his lips shaped “time”
With all its varied futures
Claiming death and birth
Irrelevant, like glacial ice

Though he never said “ice”
Because “cold” would do
Or “lonely”
A chill on the skin
Squeezed down to marrow

With all the scenes he wove aloud
Chorused, plural tenses
In a singular verb
The act that names him “poet”

More Cats

Rae Spencer2 Comments

The best remedy for a long day? Cat time.

Rainy Day

Rae Spencer6 Comments

I made this video in early March of last year. Today is an almost perfect repeat. It’s a day made for blankets, manuscript revisions, and query letters. It’s the kind of day that makes me grateful for my laptop, because my feet get cold when I have to sit at my desk.

Publication update:

I’m happy to report that one of my poems, “The Devil Is in the Details”, appears in the most recent issue of Willows Wept Review, released this week. Issue Thirteen is available in print and PDF download.