Lovelorn Poet in Western Massachusetts: A Sort Of Storm

Last Reflection by Chris Khamken

In primeval marshes,
the forest floor devours–

Midges replace mosquitoes-
Taking eyes and bringing blindness

Summer must bring bugs-
a sort of blessing, a sort of storm.
In the rain, I spin and sing-smoke a cigarette.

The clouds passed and I coughed up my heart’s exoskeleton.
I wouldn’t say I’m out of the cocoon, but I can certainly feel it
made of patches
made of learned lies
made of masks-

break all those things

The rain helps the fissures grow-
breaches cut me to the quick
mosquitoes eat my
pauut, Or, Siberian deer flies deliver sores
blind my eyes.

Here I go again
Carrying crumbs, spilling butter on the bed-
I don’t mind the spider-her web above my bed.
I read the web before going to bed-
learn a whole lot, ya know?

Cigarette butts and dirty razors-
a sort of time capsule that’s abandoned time-a sort of macrocosm
a sort of dirtied mandala that’s abandoned all form

I think this may be the second to last of all the nature poems from the Western Massachusetts Missed Connections. While each piece has an element of environmental nature, (in this example, summer-time insects native to Central New England) they’re also about human nature – which does make them a “nature poem,” don’t you think?

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