by Jack B. Bedell
He had no doubt the mountain range
along the horizon held a message
from God. All of its unforgiving
ascents up bare rock face, its sharp
drops in elevation, low clouds
obscuring such a singular path
into, or out of, light, it spoke—all
of it—so plainly of this life.
The trio of young ravens at his feet,
though, all squabble and strut,
movement and noise, offered
nothing more than distraction.
Sure, the way each of their feathers
slipped from black to purple in the sun,
their ease of movement, even their constant chatter,
echoed some design. But for all their
bickering over sticks, these birds remain
question marks at the end of a long sentence.
::
Jack B. Bedell is Professor of English at Southeastern Louisiana University where he also edits Louisiana Literature and directs the Louisiana Literature Press. Jack’s work has appeared in HAD, Heavy Feather, Brawl Lit, Moist, and other journals. He’s also had pieces included in Best Microfiction and Best Spiritual Literature. His latest collection is Ghost Forest (Mercer University Press, 2024). He served as Louisiana Poet Laureate 2017-2019.
Image: “Morning in Spring, with north-east Wind, at Vevey” by John Ruskin. 19th Century. In the Public Domain.
Psaltery & Lyre 