musings of a front-porch priest

I hope in heaven there are thunderstorms,
the kind that coming cause an egg-blue sky
to cloak the waiting world in mouse-skin gray.
Tonight, the mottled robins out front all eye
the soaking soil, anticipating worms
they know must rise for air then scatter streets
to punctuate the morning’s pavement page.

On bouncing branch, a blood-drop cardinal quakes
in spittled breeze as pinky-finger grubs
go knuckling across the yard with rhythmic flex.
They cork the cardinal’s yellow beak and plug
his throat in a feathered flash of red. He breaks
their jelly backs, then bloated, flutters back
to perch his limb. I hope that heaven is big—
big enough to hold this holy wildness.

L. R. Harvey currently lives in Chattanooga, TN, where he teaches high school English and coaches baseball. His desire is that his poems, as Joseph Campbell writes, “see the life value of the facts round abound and deify them, provide images that relate the everyday to the eternal.” He holds his BA in English and his MA in Teaching, and he is hoping to pursue his MFA within the next year. His most recent work has been accepted by Eunoia Review, Street Light Press, Ancient Paths, The Write Source, The Tennessee Magazine, and WestWard Quarterly.

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