Pride and Woodpeckers
by James Reitter
I can’t imagine you in Austen’s world of status, circumstance—much too stiff, the air too tight. You need the smoke to curl around your fingers and conversations: a gift of intimacies between an inhale/exhale exchange. Those breaths give rhythm to our song and dance, the patterns woven together, rearranged throughout some twenty years of happenstance. The smoke survives in ambiguous layers, tied together by mystery, science. We are the same, still curling in and out along with the tide as the suns and moons come and go. The rain invites a fog along to join the smoke— appropriate for a Tom Robbins book.
James Reitter is currently an Assistant Professor English at Dominican College in New York. He has been publishing poetry for two decades and his work can be found in publications such as Verse Wisconsin, Masque and Spectacle, and Breadcrumb Scabs.
Image by craig hennecke, found on Flickr.