Two Poems

by David Radavich Issue: Spring/Summer 2020

Awaiting

The seed catalogue
is another form of advent.

Comparing the pictures,
guessing at names,
measuring the beds,
buying the mulch
and fertilizer,
getting out the jaded
trowel and hoe
for another go at growth.

There’s always
that gap of trust
between what we do
and what we hope for.

Humans don’t wait well,
truth be told.  And we worry
like mice in the cold 
corner saucering our eyes.

Come spring 
the blooms might emerge
so we can feel triumph
in our modest part 
amid water, wind, and soil

beneath a sun
that credits every day 
that comes and goes
                
and maybe
opens a dream.

Burbank

Somehow I still remember
the town everyone has forgotten.

As a child we drove through
straight across the railroad tracks,
past the mine, and on 
to our further occupations.

Once we even stopped
to visit a friend.
                         
Who knows what the big
earthen hole formerly contained?
Who kept money from it?

A grassy airstrip remains
with its flat yawning runway
to carry twin-prop planes 
above this flinty earth.

Now the high-speed road 
veers by the sunken gas station,
one light blinks pause 
for crossing cars.

Even trees have left
for better moons.

Yet a quietly nodding
prairie lingers
in green and gold.    

    



David Radavich

David Radavich's latest narrative collection, America Abroad: An Epic of Discovery (2019), is a companion volume to his earlier America Bound: An Epic for Our Time  (2007). Recent lyric collections are Middle-East Mezze  (2011), The Countries We Live In (2014), and the forthcoming Here’s Plenty. His plays have been performed across the U.S. and in Europe. www.davidradavich.org