The pianissimo roll begins, leaves rustling
in the stillness of a late, lazy afternoon, builds
until ferns and firs, oaks and locusts hum.
Upturned in the sand, a horseshoe
crab flails the air, its curved carapace
formed more than 400 million years
What’s heaven like? Mama asked three weeks
before she died. She was sitting
on a red couch, frail, her eyes closed.
Bases loaded, one run down
full count, two outs.
A high school senior
Like grain spilling to earth
from a silo filled to overflowing,
Your blessings lavishly anoint me.
Read some published poems by Karen Luke Jackson.