Calvin Ahlgren

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The Best Poem Of Calvin Ahlgren

Five

I've watched her walk away,
city heels tilting down the driveway
how many times now? lugging
the same computer and overnight bag.
I could sketch their contours with my eyes closed.

The loquat tree by the gate does not suppose
she won't be coming back;
its lime-green new leaves perk upward
like greeters' hands at a zen convention.

Near the house, the standing Buddha knows too,
eyes downcast, reverent palms together,
gravely counseling serenity in the downpour.

Even the bright cymbidium blooms are sanguine,
with their cabernet-and-lemon freshness,
so easy on the breath. And what could be more positive
than the winter creek's rushing exhale
hurrying its fresh rain toward the distant sea.

Somewhere down where my adult lives
tranquilly in midcenter, no doubt
the news is posted plain:
she's only gone for a few days.
For work; it's nothing new.

But tell that to the frowny five-year-old's
long face in the mirror, heavy feet
stubbing his sneaker toes in the metaphorical dirt
with his metaphorical hands jammed
deep into his metaphorical pockets.

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