By J.J. Tindall
Courtyard Still Life: Cardinal and Cricket
The chirp of a courtyard cricket
Came in through the bathroom window.
It was high noon in summer.
I was startled. I heard eternity.
Cricket song, I thought,
Was a strictly midnight phenomenon.
One expects siren shriek, train whoosh, tire screech,
Car alarms, garbage trucks, arguments, gunfire.
Apartment courtyard acoustics prevail:
Tall brick walls and thick wood porches create
Narrow corridors with concrete floors.
Sounds bounce and shadows bend.
Each cricket’s “creak” is like a snowflake:
Utterly unique, though subtle variation
Can be lost on the human ear.
It was mid-day on a weekday
And I was at home, feeling like a fugitive
(That came from my father, who taught me
About work, when it was real, when not.
He was rarely home on Mondays).
The chirp of a courtyard cricket
Is a riff; natural, random mantra,
Like a prayer, incantation or short song.
And each is the objectification of an idea,
Including random, meaningless ones.
All objects can achieve the aesthetic
Of a GREAT MISTAKE
Rendered perfect through repetition.
Shadows from the brick
Arches soared with aesthetic proportions,
Resting on a window.
A silent spectacle. The effect is beauty
(Beauty is merely the anticipation of thanks.
Like the ideal shape of a glass
Will be successfully half glass,
Half a piece of sculpture).
Images formed a panorama
Of birds flying past.
Blue jays? Sparrows? Cardinals
(Do cardinals flock)?
A tree broke through
Its spectacle and became a roost
For a solitary cardinal. The cricket
Felt vulnerable, with only shadow
For refuge, and went silent.
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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
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More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance
Posted on February 18, 2019