• andrew jeter

The Soothsayer



The sandhill cranes

silver white fighter bombers

in electro-trilling V-formations

are returning


and in town

the ice cream shop windows

are still covered,

but there’s a van outside

and the service door

is open


and the local deli

has switched their daily

soup choices

from stews and chili

to spring vegetable curries

and brothy mushroom affairs


and in my garage

each time I have to run out

I stare longingly

at a new box of string

lights, 48 feet long

full of eleven watt stars


that will run from the hook

on my back porch

to the hook on the maple

by the firepit.

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