A Poem for a Thursday #287

I have featured Tony Hoagland’s poetry a few times over the years. I love the way his poems provide such a clear mental image of a moment. This one makes me think of the farmhouse in New York where we used to vacation with our kids. There were always five million dragonflies buzzing around.

Once, in the cool blue middle of a lake,
up to my neck in that most precious element of all,

I found a pale-gray, curled-upwards pigeon feather
floating on the tension of the water

at the very instant when a dragonfly,
like a blue-green iridescent bobby pin,

hovered over it, then lit, and rested.
That's all.

I mention this in the same way
that I fold the corner of a page

in certain library books,
so that the next reader will know

where to look for the good parts.

Field Guide
Tony Hoagland