(poetry diary 34) While looking for Autumn poems, I ran across “Equinox” by Elizabeth Alexander. When I told a coworker about the traditional beginning and read the ending to her, she said “I was not expecting that.” And neither was I. (Read it below to see what we’re talking about. 🙂 ) I’d say more, but I don’t want to spoil it.
Now is the time of year when bees are wild
and eccentric. They fly fast and in cramped
loop-de-loops, dive-bomb clusters of conversants
in the bright, late-September out-of-doors.
I have found their dried husks in my clothes.