Rust-colored ladybugs, clustered like grapes,
mate on horsetails that wave by a creek,
where silvery salmon spawn and leap
when the sandbar breaks at the gate to the sea.

The ladybugs have come hundreds of miles,
from valley to coast, for this singles bash.
The females are choosy: they twiddle the males,
seeking appendages padded with fat.

And all around–high in redwood burls,
on elk-clover leaves, and in the rich soil–
the meaning of life is to stroke and prod
under a humpbacked moon, dissolving in fog.

Lucy Day lives in Oakland, California. Her recent poetry
collections–INFINITIES, WILD ONE, and FIRE IN THE GARDEN–are available from INFINITIES contains many poems inspired by outings with Michael Ellis. Lucy is director of the Hall of Health, a museum in Berkeley, and
founder/publisher of Scarlet Tanager Books



Posted on

August 6, 2009