Betsy Sholl
IT WAS
a squirrel flicking its tail, it was the woodpecker’s
red head, a sparrow wing flaring in light, it was
an angel, a message, bayberries on bare twigs,
it was Love Supreme in a car stopped at the light,
don’t stop me from believing it was a message,
it was a moment held, a pebble in the mouth,
a bubble blown then caught on the wand’s rim,
it was a bare tree like earth-wires sparking
in the light, it was two old women arm in arm,
their droopy bosoms, mouths full of teeth, laughing,
their heads thrown back, it was the world breaking
its grim hold, it was the green light saying
Go, and all the cars not going so a dog
like a small god could weave among them.