Farm Ponds

The farm pond gurgled
Like a chorus of stomachs
Waiting for dinner.

For three days it rained.
Pond became a fast river,
River, a new pond.

Each pond had a name
Only bullfrogs could pronounce.
They sounded the same.

Standing between ponds
We shook our heads in night’s song
Roaring stereo.

Pond Two rolled on south
Under roads to other fields.
Water flows downhill.

Some water stayed here.
Before red heifers came home,
Pasture drank that pond.

The first pond still shines
Just over the rise with ducks—
The sky’s own mirror.

The second pond roams
Green pasture, eating itself,
Watching me sit still.

2015

2 Responses to “Farm Ponds”

  1. eduardo says:

    Each pond had a name
    Only bullfrogs could pronounce.
    They sounded the same.

    So much is implied in this stanza. How bullfrogs had their own names for the ponds, which we not only were unable to make sense of (neither speaking nor understanding Bullfrog), but so deep was our ignorance, it all sounded the same to us.

    And, too, there’s that pond watching you.

    • wordweed says:

      Yes, yes. Thank you for seeing what I am trying to do here with these images. As I work with text in a formal way (in this case, haiku) I often don’t delve too deeply into all the ways subtext is radiating. Hearing you describe your experience of the images so clearly actually helps me understand my own poem better. Thanks, Eduardo.

      The pond watching me. Yes, through the eyes of the herd.

      How wonderful to finally meet you this weekend!

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