They read poetry on the Plaza
on very certain days
during the semester’s seasons
from September until May.
The readers’ words float upwards
from mouth into the sky
trying to catch an intense thought
or a curious slice of life.
For poetry is the distillation
of the moment when everything turns,
spiraling out to latch onto,
and then encase an idea’s germ.
But my little dawn of realization
on this day when the wind is fair:
is the Black Widows’ annual great migration,
on the spider webs in the air.
Their silvr’y strands glint in the sun
as they sail by overhead,
ensnaring the words and thoughts
of poets long thought dead.
Does she follow a twangy vibration,
moving stealthily in for the kill?
Only to find her incisive venom
no match for the writer’s quill?
Then flying away with purloined phrases
no wonder it’s so hard to hear,
I only catch snatches of faraway places
so I’m off to imbibe a beer.
– At UT HRC Plaza, Spring 2013 – E.S.Cuny