Three Signs of Memory Loss

VINCENT HOSTAK

May 4, 2020

1

Four days or so ago it snowed.

It was long past midwinter.

Now young martins cascade

shed from thick pine bristle—

dark raindrops swirling

in sunlight.

This time of year such early scouts are rarely seen.

2

Then I caught a sparrow’s nest

hidden below a twitching branch,

empty as a school bag

a child once carried home.

It was fastened there

tautly held.

There must always be lodging here, out there, somewhere.

3

I’d like to see your face—right here.

Instead, all these perfect poses

gazing from lighted glass.

The Spring’s already lost.

Whenever was it

you were here?

And was I coiled by the window counting martins?

VINCENT HOSTAK is a poet, essayist, filmmaker, and podcaster.  A longtime resident of Austin, TX, he resides now in Colorado, a hog’s hair away from wilderness. His poetry may be found in the print journal Sonder Midwest (#5).  His podcast on refugee resettlement in America: https://anchor.fm/crossingsrefugees.  Writer's blog:  https://vincenthostakdigital.com/.