Plein Air

In the face of what I cannot control I crave innocence
and return to what always brings consolation in grief,
plein air writing, whereby I must leave myself behind
and focus on what is around me, as I sit beside the
bird bath, at the patio table, in the back yard.

Journal notes, May 23, 2011. The robin dipping her wings
into the bird bath and raising them and splashing water on her back,
pure light on the peach tree leaves,
those tender young onion sprouts,
gurgle of fountain water, a breeze floating down
through the trees and brushing lighter than a kiss
on my cheeks, softening my tension wrinkled forehead,
I breath in.

I cannot control death. The old red wagon throws shadows
of wheels across the bare soil. The green sprinkling-can points
to the north. Lenny will be buried in the north.
I beathe out.

Purple petunias. Green baby grape clusters. Pink geraniums.
Death will take these some day. Hot sun heats my head,
soon, sweat will drip down into my eyes, salty, bringing tears.

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About Ciletti

Jim Ciletti, an award winning poet, filmmaker, and author, is the 2010-2012, Poet Laureate of the Pikes Peak region, and for 41 years, poet-in-residence for the Orme School Fine Arts Festival. Jim gives many workshops on the writing and performance of poetry, and makes poetry house calls to create personal poetry events. Ciletti loves everything Italian, including cooking for family and friends, and loves to plant garlic, make homemade wine, and eating peaches and plums. "Everyday is Christmas, but you don't always get everything you ask for. Sometimes more. Poetry celebrates life."
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One Response to Plein Air

  1. Rosemerry says:

    oh this ending! that last stanza is a doozy. i like how it stands so firmly in the present, then states the future as it almost surely will be.

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