Christine Havens
when you’d rather be at ground
level, sighing over variations
in the shades of the berries
pooled like beads of winter sky
in the crannies grooving the worn
pavement under the RV, waiting
for strands of verse to flow
while cold damp seeps through
your faded blue jeans, numbing
your thrumming knees. hungry
chickadees scold you, titmice
scold you, wrens scold you.
you scold you. this foolishness
is not the world’s wisdom. why
aren’t you on the move, consumed
by the drive to strive for the next big thing?
