Today, looking down, I watch the
area around my shoes while I walk.
I see an interesting leaf, a label from
a bright energy bar, a double acorn
fused together in a Siamese mistake
that a squirrel will find fortunate,
a jagged piece of cyan blue plastic
that I could use on a collage, a
sweeping drip of oil about ten feet
long, curved gracefully as the leaking
vehicle made a turn into the feed
store and tractor fixit place. I see a
cicada on its back, white vest
facing the sky, a seventeen year
ballyhooed victim of rather quick
old age. He played in the largest
symphony orchestra in the world
and few noticed. Children did, and
they’re an appreciative audience.
Remember? Fireflies, too. And
sparklers on the fourth of July. No
longer looking at the road I walk,
I am looking at a road called time.
How did I walk it all so quickly?
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 24, Issue 3.
Guinotte Wise writes and welds steel sculpture on a farm in Resume Speed, Kansas. His short story collection, Night Train, Cold Beer, won publication by a university press and enough money to fix the soffits. Six more books since. A 5-time Pushcart nominee, his fiction, essays and poetry have been published in numerous literary journals including Atticus, The MacGuffin, Southern Humanities Review, Rattle and The American Journal of Poetry. His wife has an honest job in the city and drives 100 miles a day to keep it. (Covid changed some of the circumstances.) Some work is at http://www.wisesculpture.com
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