This is another poem I found in a back issue of Ploughshares. From Emily Moore, it’s a little piece, but it works.
The Scuffle of the Small
The overrated owe
a great debt to the little:
the pinpoint feet of shrimp
unleash the tide pool billows.
The mismatched flecks within the rock
make granite glitter.
Could the gnat impart
the summer with her shimmer?
Each spring the tightness of the soil
is tirelessly relieved
by the boring of a worm:
she dares the roots to breathe.
the fleeting glance
reshuffles our attention.
The awkward and unrhymed
wheedle in and loosen
with such resolve that all our gaps
and solitudes are filled.
It is the scuffle of the small
that stirs the silt.
Recent Comments