Poems
by Diane
Webster
Cascading Rust
Rust pockmarks
the white car’s hood
as it cascades
over the edge –
look out
double-paned window,
notice flies burrowed
through a slit
to warm themselves
in sunshine captured
only to die,
to pile up bodies
between inside
outside panes
like rust spots
marching over
the curvatures of a car.
Another Flutter
Aspen leaves surround
the lake’s shore …
an Aloha lei worn
until wilted petals
surrender, drop
like autumn leaves.
Like fallen leaves
weighted in water
sink another flutter
to lie in silt to change
shade to decay brown …
one more Aloha.
Pond Shore
Blade of grass not yet tall enough
to stand with the others
above the water in thin shadows
looks like a shark’s fin stationary
awaiting the ripple of fear
to descend the others’ stems
and shiver across the surface
when currents bend the grass
below in disappearance.
Tipped Over
Beside the closed door a stool sits
like it knocked, and no one answered;
so it sits awaiting the owner’s return.
The visitor’s ears listen to bent knees
popping, creaking close-by loud
until footsteps echo down the sidewalk.
The visitor leans sideways
onto the sidewalk closer than standing.
On hands and knees he wobbles
upright to greet the closed-door owner,
but only a neighbor passes by.
Beside the closed door a stool lies
as if tipped over by a stray cat
rubbing against its legs.
Memory Blossoms
The sidewalk path
of fallen
crabapple blossoms
was created just for me
on my morning walk.
Carried to work
on my shoe’s sole
a petal wilts
on the carpet.
Two days later
petal dust blends
with other shoe
detritus, but memory
blooms blossoms
forever.
