Waking the Beast
By Brad Martin
Yesterday the pipe bird sang.
Haven’t heard her since May.
Mid October breathed a cool sigh –
thirtysomethin’ at dark thirty.
Outside came in uninvited,
while absent quilts don’t care
and the sun won’t hurry.
“Wake the beast and warm the maiden.”
She’s been asleep since March,
but pine and oak berries do the trick –
in her mouth on Dominoes boxes.
I gave her a quick strike and cleared the area.
creaking, dinging, and crackling
she slowly shakes her slumber
and opens her eye.
Sitting close in a mid century rocker,
I smiled to be the first to welcome the creature
who helps me pass the gray days to come.
Ten minutes peering
through the window of her soul
we warmed and waited,
ready for the inevitable.