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Poetry

T-M Baird

TM Baird

I have yet to publish a book, but poems of mine have appeared in several journals, including Void (2006), A Lone Mountain Anthology (2008), and Chest: The Journal of American Chest Physicians (2018). I started reading and writing poetry when my grandmother died when I was nine and left me all her books, including a dog-eared collection of Keats. Eventually that led me to a BA in Classics (’02), an MFA in poetry and nonfiction (’05), and an MA in religious studies (’09). Not all of those things were about Romanticism, mortality, and re-imagining God; but, they also kind of were.

A Day without a Screen

You wake, and the birds
are sharp and clear, their melodies
complex, not all flutters— clicks
and whistles, guttural trills— The window
displays the whole world: new leaves
on the buckeye, fresh nibblings
at the basil plants, threading the skin. A stretch
of dirt sprouting mysteries undiscovered,
too stubby yet for weeding or admiration.
All the light freely admits
it comes straight from the sun.
The air pushes softly through,
not silence. Not quite stillness,
and a long way from nothing
happening this morning.
              If I could get a little closer, I would know
how many lichens are being unraveled
and secreted away into squirrels’ nests.
I could count the buds
erupting along the lilac branches.
But I am stuck
at a little distance, yet, in this chair,
in this gawky, noisy frame
that tickles the ears of the deer
out there,
even when I tiptoe.
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