a dish
for the neighbors’ TV
Author: Dave Bonta
I live in an Appalachian hollow in the Juniata watershed of central Pennsylvania, and spend a great deal of time walking in the woods. My books of poetry include FAILED STATE: HAIBUN, ICE MOUNTAIN: AN ELEGY, BREAKDOWN: BANJO POEMS, and ODES TO TOOLS.
dishes done
the sink returns
my gaze
snowy streetlamp
a dog-walker’s
puffs of breath
New Year’s day
some leftover darkness
in my mug
returning
to the mountain
its hiking stick
longest night
between the strips
of moonlight
earthstars
halfway up the mountain
beginning to fade
Trail sign
[haibun]
teethmarks
on the trail sign…
my last sip of tea
lost balloon
how unlooked-for
to be let go
red barberries
an awful Christmas carol
stuck in my head
December thaw
the darkness giving up
its sassafras
Missing mountaintop
From time to time a flash of panic, as if I’ve forgotten something — but I can’t think what.
missing mountaintop
in the pit
of my stomach
