At breakfast this morning, a star fell
in through the kitchen window.
It was the size of a snowball, but now
in April, all the snow had melted
and run off into the spring river
which churned south to the Twin Cities
with an attitude of arrogant abandon.
The star seemed lost, or out of place
among groceries and cabinets.
I offered to take its coat, but everyone
could see it was naked as a baby
bird squeaking in a high-built nest.
We turned away, afraid to offend
a visitor, one who might have come
to offer such salvation as we deserved.
My Folly and My Clumsiness
Before I get out of bed
my foot rips the web of dreams.
I stumble, glad that nobody sees
my folly and my clumsiness.
If the world were tiny
and enclosed in glass, we
could push our faces up against
the curved boundaries of our space.
From outside this universe, our
fingers would appear immense,
magnified by curving light,
and every line of our prints would
stand out like a dry riverbed.
I think about things like this each
morning before coffee, before day
rushes back into my blood, and breath
eases and slows. I grip the table
for its hardness is my trembling hands.
Across the Yard
The neighbors are waving
and waving, all seven children
in their spring clothes
but not you,
because when you wave back,
they stare with eyes empty
as shadow, dark and cold
as December night.
Already your old hands
have turned to claws,
your voice a shower
of pebbles against glass.
Maybe the time has come
to shave your beard
or put on the black
clothes of a holy man.
Or you could sink in mud
until your face disappears,
your one free hand hurling
blessings to the fading world.
Steve Klepetar's work has appeared worldwide, in such journals as Boston Literary Magazine, Deep Water, Expound, The Muse: India, Red River Review, Snakeskin, Voices Israel, Ygdrasil, and many others. Several of his poems have been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize (including three in 2015). Recent collections include My Son Writes a Report on the Warsaw Ghetto and The Li Bo Poems, both from Flutter Press.