Thursday Poem

Turn Off Your phone

Turn off your phone.
……………………………. Place it, face down,
on cold sandstone: that oxblood-red back-step
she buffed for sixty years.
……………………………………Look out
past the well-kept lawn, its marrow stripes
while radio waves walk through walls,
bark, bone and steel:
…………………………….congregate to a signal.

Rest your eyes beyond the fence
on the trunks of birch that ebb into the wood.
Feel those white trees breathe.
…………………………………………… The entropy
of branch and leaf may offer some relief.

Whether they do or don’t,
after a time you must pick up your phone,
face its empty screen:
……………………………….. turn it on again.

by Subhadassi
from The National Poetry Archive