2 Poems by Michael Spring
the hearth
whether it is a Rumford or a pit
or a mass of brick
it is the fire
that draws us close
our hands opening
for the heat
*
the logs in the flames
look like limbs
torn from a torso
or bones:
the sacrum or columns
of a spine
or a crumbling skull
*
perhaps the skull is in
the position of bowing
to the earth
where it melts and becomes
a surface for shifting images
*
I’ll throw more wood
into the hearth
forget about the movie
tonight
nothing replaces fire
Portal
when Vivian Fine found her piano in the forest
she leaned over the lid warily
as if looking into a bog –
the shadows below the trees were green
and black – heavy
as a bridge
the trees creaked in the wind as she began
her composition of Portal
the dark wood of the piano
was polished slick as glass
as her image swam to the surface
Michael Spring is the author of three poetry collections: blue crow (LitPot press, Inc., 2003) Mudsong (Pygmy Forest Press, 2005) and Root of Lightning (Pygmy Forest Press, 2011). Root of Lightning was awarded and honorable mention for the 2012 Eric Hoffer Book Award. His poems have appeared (or are forthcoming) in numerous publications, including Atlanta Review, The Dublin Quarterly, Flyway, Gavea-Brown, Innisfree, Midwest Quarterly, NEO, Spillway, and Turtle Island Quarterly. Michael lives in O'Brien, OR. He is a natural builder, a martial art instructor, and a poetry editor for The Pedestal Magazine.