6 January 2009 | Vol. 8, No. 4
Song for this Time
Quails don't have chicks when it doesn't rain,
but I had you in a dry year of war when we fed
on bull nettle in eyebright and meadowsweet.
The footage is from Lebanon this time. You ask
if they fight the buildings down, and why.
In a covey of clouds and fore sights, safe
in witch hazel, full of violets, thistles, hickory nuts,
you love playing war as long as everyone
takes turns, and when they don't, you watch
the cardinal in the abelia, worrying it will get wet
as rain suddens from another afternoon that builds
in heat each hour. You want to know where
the plant's parents are. You will be four
in eleven days. We walk under the clouds for now.
About the author:
Angie Macri's poetry has been published in journals including Crab Orchard Review, Fugue, and New Delta Review and was featured in The Spoon River Poetry Review. She was recently awarded an individual artist fellowship from the Arkansas Arts Council.