Parade
By Jonathan Bennett
I missed the balloon passing overhead,
Mistaking its shadow and shivering;
Because, I was pushing through the thick crowd
In my hope of finding a better view.
Horns and beats and brass buttons glittering
Moved past with clowns and floats before, behind.
Marching, dancing, waving to catch my eye
That was focused—too intent—on the end.
Now everyone's gone home. The brooms whisper,
Brushing up the remains of the parade
That culminated in my heart's desire.
Yet, now, curbside I await another.
Planing
By Jonathan Bennett
His hands on mine, I hold the plane tight
And try to press my eighty-plus pounds
Down to hold the metal flat against
An old scrap of lumber lying around.
At his word I push hard as I can,
And can't raise a splinter from its skin
Until he adds his strength: older, skilled.
And a curl appears through the blade hole
Turning in on itself to spiral,
Which he takes out at the end and says,
"There, that's pretty good for a first one."
Then drops it with the other shavings
And lifts the plane to start again.
Hunter's Moon
By Jonathan Bennett
Predawn wake-up and into warm clothing
With coffee, poured, insulated, in hand
Before stepping under winter night, stars.
Heavy soles crunching drought-parched, fallen leaves
Revealing me to darkness and her ears
Until, reaching a place that's all prepared,
Silence and with the universe fading,
The stillness and the waiting now begins.
Head and eyes turn and search the baited earth
For the moving branch. Ears sharp for footfalls
As a north wind blows, provides a decoy
(a distraction to help keep the secret,
Or a test to see if I am ready?)
And out of one corner I note the pass
Of full moon behind nearly naked trees
Marking sunrise start of another day
Of watching for the object of my hunt--
A trophy as proof these wilderness hours
Were not time wasted or actions in vain.
Sun turning frost to vapor, I resist
Reacting—bagging the first sighted prey,
Which, though promising a day's contentment,
Would leave me, come tomorrow, wondering.
As the morning becomes noon, I stand, walk
Tossing away secrecy by sunlight,
And I hear behind the rustle of leaves,
Feel the weight of hidden eyes behind me.
Walking on, toward a temporary home,
I wonder if I am hunter or prey.
