by David Oestreich
1.
The shovel blade
pushes up a bright wake
like a speedboat
slicing the cool mirror
of a lake. I hold the grip
in one hand; the other waves
wildly as I slip along behind.
2.
I lift my staff
above this dusty tide
until it gathers
on my right, my left,
and stands upon itself
in glistening walls;
my people pass between
on salt and sand.
3.
All over the neighborhood,
men drag straight razors along
the slender necks of their houses,
shaking off the foam as they go;
they are careful not to nick
the tender edges of the lawns
and let the dirt bleed through.
Soon, they will stand admiring
their work, watching as the sun
rinses clean the patches they’ve missed.
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David Oestreich is a human resources manager living in northwest Ohio with his wife and three children. His work has previously appeared in Ruminate, Umbrella, Minnetonka Review, and Eclectica. |
WILLOWS WEPT REVIEW 