Owl
After Kafka
His is the voice crying
out in the wilderness.
I hear him among
the leaves of the sweetgum
where no one can see.
It’s late at night,
and many other creatures
are fast asleep—
or busy burrowing.
He stops periodically,
then doesn’t stop.
Does anyone hear?
He certainly hopes so.
But it’s not clear,
as the night is not clear.
So the communicating
continues, an insistent rain
of vowels that signify
the pain we know
must be urgent and wise.
Downstream
For Kathryn Stripling Byer
I am at the slippery age
when I don’t need amnesia.
It comes on its own,
lazy curled river
winding and forgetting,
mixing childhood
and workdays, hatreds
and misbegotten loves,
snakes slithering in the cool
current justified as much
as I, trees hanging over
begging back to childhood
with those unbothered
arms not aching across the hole,
plopping in like thrown rocks,
then swimming and finally
climbing out with no memory
but to try again, better next time,
and maybe afternoon falling
toward purple and red
and unacknowledged cares
that come calling and singing
like a sad raccoon
needing its overdue meal
and a good bed with dreams.
David Radavich: “I’m a bit of rover, having been born in Boston and lived in Oklahoma, Kansas, Idaho, and three other states before moving to Charlotte, where I currently live. Many of my poems deal with social issues, but always tying into the human repercussions caused by specific policies or historic events. These poems express my wonder at the accomplishments of two writers whose work opens up new vistas to the world. In some ways the style of the poems mirrors the style of each writer.” Online: davidradavich.org; facebook.com/david.radavich.5.