Consternation, by Ann Heyse
When I speak of pine siskins and ruby-throated hummingbirds
or marvel
at the purple bergamot among my Queen Ann’s lace and solidago
is it like for you what stock numbers are for me,
an endless list, unnecessarily read aloud on NPR?
Perhaps, remarkably,
you actually prefer to discuss product lines at Nordstrom’s
or carry a purse with an important name.
You might enjoy shopping for beige stilettos
and jacket of matching linen
that make you look sophisticated and me not.
What must you think
that I wait happily for northern lights
for raspberries to ripen
for the rattle croon of the sand-hill crane in the spring?
Annotations 