Sweep clean the corners of night.
Snap the broom handle in two.
Boomerang one end for the dog
to fetch. Watch the ballet of tall dry grasses
fluttering, bowing. Applaud, applaud!
Loosen, giggle, stretch, gleam.
Peel an orange, take
each plump tangy section
one by one
on your tongue and bite.
Juice yourself awake.
Observe the young hawk
in stark branches, stalking sparrows.
Tell someone its ravenous tale,
with reverence.
Drink of some archaic potion—
cider, ale, wassail, grog, wine
from ancient vines. Toast to all
who’ve ever done the same. Salute!
Wear a scarf with tiny
winking threads of glitter
even if it’s not your look.
Saunter. Play a flute.
Light a candle and snuff it
when you’ve had enough
of ritual. Skip the yoga.
Close the karmic book.
Yawn, ululate, or yodel. Leave
the list upon the kitchen table.
Follow Sagittarian arrows.
Make saw from what was.
As dawn blooms and bells clang,
dance across a drawbridge. Wave aloha
to cars and ferries or to any passing fancy as if
this is any other ordinary gangway morning
because it is.
is author of Like the O in Hope (The Poetry Box, 2019) and two chapbooks. Comstock Review, Kakalak, Poetry Quarterly, Naugatuck River Review, and other journals have published her poems. She is co-winner of Reed Magazine’s Edwin Markham Prize (2019). She regularly reviews books for The Main Street Rag and helps organize open mics with Nexus Poets in New Bern, NC. Her MFA in fiction is from the University of Massachusetts; her BA is from Allegheny College. She has traveled to all 50 states. She has never owned a dog or ridden a motorcycle.
Author’s website: http://www.jeannejulian.com
