Reading Matters

From Maureen Ryan Griffin’s new poetry collection

Maureen Ryan Griffin
Maureen Ryan Griffin

BEFORE I GO

give me time to learn

the neighborhood songbirds by name,

to notice the raindrops glistening

on the tips of pine needles

after the next hard rain. Let me

sniff damp asphalt, red clay, loam.

Give me one more sunrise

by that willow on the Pamlico

with steam from my coffee

rising in homage

to that nip in the air. Please.

I’m not asking for Paris again, or even

Broadwy, although that would be nice.

I’ll even take another afternoon

with a teething, whiny baby

if You’ll let me simmer

one more pot of turkey soup.

Give me one more evening by the pond

listening to the croackers, peepers, twangers,

shrill romancers. Let me lie awake

under one more August sky

so I can lose count of shooting stars,

gaze contented, dazed,

until the light blurs into

another ruby morning.

MAUREEN RYAN GRIFFIN of Charlotte is the author of a new collection of poems, “Ten Thousand Cicadas Can’t Be Wrong,” from Charlotte’s Main Street Rag, $15 paper.

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