Thanksgiving Eve

 

You said

tonight

we can see the Hyades

to the left

            of the moon

on horizon's hem

sewn in by the paleness of stars

 

Sitting on Beverly Hill,

we wait for the universe

to expand, contract

red shifts to blue.

 

I ask the sky questions-

it answers with light:

 

Orion's Nebula-

a cradle for newborn stars.

 

To think we are made of supernovas-

carbon, iron and our blood..

 

  Stars fail every second

Earth’s population lies with its lovers.

 

Betelgeuse’s red iris stares at us saying

who really has wisdom?

 

One hundred thirteen birds line up

on a telephone wire..

I exhale frost.

They disperse opening up the sky.

 

I close my eyes

 

to catch   

 

the sound of chaos.

 

 

 

Manifesto

 

It is that fire

that geyser I walked upon

that broke

under my feet,

force of wild clarity

 

Physics wearing its fiercest mask-

thespian portraying

the inconsolable one

left in the desert with no umbrella.

 

I read that Mars has water,

nutrients in the composition of its soil-

potassium, phosphorus-

to support living organisms.

 

Do we have the sustainance

in our desperation to walk outside of

ourselves and observe our own loneliness.

 

Then, hear the voice inside utter stillness

that says

 

"This is why you are here."

 

They say Jesus was tempted in the desert

and Satan tormented him

so he would understand the human condition-

 

The Earth rotates

flashing its deepest crevices

to the sun-

 

So, the very nature of man

cannot deny what lies in

shadowy modesty-

the shame of imperfection and temptation.

 

If we all experience this,

why is it not considered

a simple rite of passage?

 

Just as earth in the desert cracks.

 

 

 

 

Heather Ann Schmidt is an MFA candidate at National University. Her poems have appeared in Della Donna, The Alchemist Review, The GNU Journal, The Shine Journal, and Word Catalyst. She credits her inspiration and growth as a poet to her mentor, Frank Montesonti.