National Poetry Month–Collage
Rare occurrences these images of faith
yet I place them like concrete statues in a garden:
a pink rose on a blacktop highway,
blueberries in the sky above
a green grassy field, a window frame opening
the bark of a tree, a steeple peeking
out of a forest mist.
God, why have I placed this steeple
in this piece of art? When I am more drawn
by the post-fence running next to the blacktop,
and a triangular image of a wrinkled old
man in a 1930s pickup.
That man has broken
horses. He passed
my pink rose on the highway.
Roses, I’ve let them roam
untamed. Like my children,
I attempted to protect by trimming
around delicate petals
with tiny scissors. Wild,
they curled over the fence,
escaped my touch.
A window frames a waterfall
I ponder the course of this river
and what it has crushed.
The pebbles are older than Christ.
I fear the icy run-off of winter.
If I set my children adrift in reeds
turtles might snap my offerings to pieces.
If I set my children on the wing
will they pluck fruit from the sky?
Can sunflowers pop through snow banks
and appear natural?
Why should I ask?
You’ve never answered with the miraculous before.
~poem copyright Kim Nixon