May The Fourth

We all delight in mouthing
May the Fourth be with you, cheers
for David in his battle
with Goliath—taming stars
with ships and blasters—not the
kids in Palestine armed with
only rocks and fears. (Movies
more explicit carpet floors
of cutting rooms.) Here we watch

five goslings, newly hatched, swim
the lake longways tucked in their
parents’ honking wake, and fleur
de lis and lilac take turns
tantalizing. And this white
flowering crabtree, bridal-
lush luxuriance a pledge
any starstruck love would swear.
(This flicker visiting the
empty suet cage tut-tuts.)

The swallow’s iridescent
vigil from her nest, diving
into the rain. Alert like
the baby years past watching
for her cue—enter squalling—
I’m still born in May, the stars
portents of wild green greening.

This critical voice has had
free rein. Saddling women
I should be, riding hard right
out of here into that tired
tomorrow. I cannot find
fresh eyes until my grandson
calls—he’s sobbing, will you be
my best friend? (not a ghost to
guide in dreams)—morning hope springs.

Inspired by: Battle, May, Force and Delight.


Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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