by Jannett Highfill
Summers fly, winters walk, Snoopy writes somewhere.
Charlie Brown says Good Grief.
Emily Dickinson ribbits like a Frog—to an admiring Bog.
A windpuff-bonnet of fawn-froth turns and twindles
over the broth of a pool so pitchblack, fell-frowning,
it rounds and rounds Despair to drowning,
Gerard Manley Hopkins says, wanting wildness.
I’m greedy for loneliness, thundersnow,
Woodstock, racoons on the roof and in trash cans.
I’m greedy for vaulty voluminous stupendous boredom,
walks along Windmill Road, cricket elegies.
Jannett Highfill is a Great Plains poet living in Kansas. Her poems have appeared in Rhino, Common Ground Review, The Iowa Review, The Greensboro Review, and elsewhere. She has three chapbooks, Light Blessings Drifting Together, A Constitution of Silence, and Brown Restless Green. She is coauthor of A Tempered and Humane Economy: Markets, Families, and Behavioral Economics from Lexington Books.
Little Leaf Literary Journal 