Day Counting (Sparks)

There are 26 catkins on the Harry Lauder Walking Stick. At least 5 feet of cliff left us last week. The weather calls for 64 with lightning. We have 8 eggs, 2,000 flax seeds, 5 boxes from Christmas never sent, 23 cans of bubble water, 1 slow fly born outside we hope. Regarding pickles we are down to our gherkins. The couch is renamed the station. Meet you at the station. Dinner tonight is at the station.

The intermittent car-alarm b e e p-b e e p is going on 9 hours, drowned out not a bit by the hum of the air filter and waves. Men have come to roll enormous rocks down the hill to hem the cliff: 4 rocks per truck, 23 trips to the quarry. They shake hands, slap backs, do not wear masks. Highest water in 40 years. It’s a year for record breaking.

16 Mallards and 1 sharp stick in the water. Not together but near each other. There are choices: fix the grammar or save the passwords; centimeters or inches; vodka or wine; panic or not. Others: pet 2 mammals at once or 1 for a very long time; learn sign language for I love you or write it on every door in the house. There has been plenty of time or no time at all.

Amy Bracken Sparks is a poet living in Cleveland. Her work has appeared in various print and online journals and she has received three individual excellence awards from the Ohio Arts Council. She is an editor at the Cleveland Museum of Art.