That Granite Needle
The tall obelisk in the cemetery across
from my third-floor office submits to the will
of the sun this blue morning. I have thrilled
to the sun ascendant over my computer for
years, an unavoidable meditation on a cemetery.
It is a granite needle that pricks my gray folds
each morning I work. It’s a relative I don’t
want to see. It’s a meeting I’d like to
avoid. It’s a doctor’s appointment I dread.
It’s a sermon I don’t want to hear.
It’s that granite needle again.
My morning coffee at my desk, I am full into
my routine as the steeply inclined sun finger
paints on granite, a pastel of light downward
till the base is bright. This work of light on the
obelisk never fails to draw my eyes from my
keyboard, if only for moments. The sun paints
a message for me, maybe.
Today a weed-eater begins to buzz around the base.
I look down and resume typing e-mails to staff.
G. Louis Heath, Ph.D., Berkeley, 1969, teaches at Ashford University, Clinton, Iowa. He retires in June, 2016 because his university is closing. He enjoys reading his poems at open mics. He often hikes along the Mississippi River, stopping to work on a poem he pulls from his back pocket, weather permitting. His books include Mutiny Does Not Happen Lightly, Long Dark River Casino and Vandals In The Bomb Factory. His most recent poems have been published in Dead Snakes, Poppy Road Review, Writing Raw, Inkstain Press, Verse-Virtual, Eunoia Review and Squawk Back. He can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org