I went to a memorial poetry reading on Wednesday night, to celebrate the life of a local poet who recently passed away.
My morning began like the beginning of any other week. On your mark, get set, go. Work may be stopped in Washington on this auspicious day in history but around here the kid still needs to be fed and the household still needs to be run.
Song for Binky
by Luke Atticus DeArmond
transcribed by Shannon Byrne DeArmond
My dearest friend
But prone to roam
Close to my heart
With a mind of its own
Slipping sliding hiding
Why do you stray?
Oh fickle friend
That would not stay
Oh Binky, Binky
My friend or foe?
Filling my heart
With untold woe
Crocodile tears I shed everyday
All for the Binky that would not stay
I don't have a belfry; I have a bat box. In the early summer when the mosquitos descended upon us, Shawn bought a bat box. We mounted it on a tall post in our backyard, against Jenny's garage. Shawn, Jenny, and I looked at it hopefully for a few weeks. Summer, though, is not bat moving season. That's spring. We knew we weren't expecting residents anytime soon.
Ask and you shall receive.
Or... Complain and God says, "Alright already! Stop whining! I've already taken care of it but there's shipping time involved and even I can't speed up the US Postal Service!"
Or something like that.
Yesterday, just hours after writing my frantic blog about my mournfully empty post office box, I arrived at said box to find that providence had intervened. There, in a little letter-sized enevelope, was the first submission to The Yolo Crow. A lovely little villanelle.*