Highway Maintenance

(My beloved, shining friend Moniczka Kowalczyk-Kroll wrote this dynamite, moon-bright orb of a poem; I think you might agree it may yet to stir the whole goddamned, beautiful and damaged world back into heart-breaking, heart-making trouble again ...)

Highway Maintenance

~ by Moniczka Kowalczyk-Kroll, (approx 2020)

Last night I took my chisel, fox bone fine

and chipped away at cobblestones,

freed the holloways of our dreaming

from their claggy coating of hot bitumen and

compact concrete blankets.

Ripped with scissors sharp as badgers teeth

the ribbons of hard roads corseting soft flesh,

and saw how the depressed and flattened swathes

of meadow grass, rising like dough,

with the sweet dank smell of a ponies flinching skin

released from the saddle,

found their true lintel of vast sky again;

each tussock again a hassock for my prayers.

The straitjacketed waterways and

panicked silted rivers I left to the ministries

of the beavers and their mosaic art -

and the moon found a million new homes to bathe in.

I dismantled bridges, made us crawl the sides of fallen trees

like slow beetles and remember holy longing,

I gouged out street lights like splinters from puckered flesh

And scribbled out the false punctuation of

Fences and gates and barbed wire,

angry slashes across our thought lines

So that the wild creatures could finish their perfect sentences on the land.

Tonight I go out again, with a screech owl claw needle,

there are frayed edges to be soldered,

a golden joinery.