~ Delta Poetry Review ~

Kendall Dunkelberg

The Intergalactic Traveler Contemplates Color

Only speciesists assume he is green. On earth there are many

creatures with many kinds of plumage in many shades and hues:

cardinals, bluebirds, egrets, flamingoes, and green-haired girls.

Like a chameleon, he blends into his surroundings with skin, a pale

shade of brown. To be colorless would be ridiculous or to be

transparent like a jellyfish. Then earthlings would discriminate

on the basis of internal organs. Would he stand out with

phosphorescent lymph nodes? Would his blood glow red or blue?

Would earthlings judge one another by the size of their hearts

or whether they beat with empathy? They think of themselves

as solid with definite exteriors and personal space, yet

a trillion times a second neutrinos and x-rays pass through

like knives through butter or waves of light through crystal water.

Earthlings are not much more than transportation systems

for particles and viruses that don’t care one whit about color.

The Intergalactic Traveler Goes to the Beach

On the beach, humans vie with the brightly colored

reef fish, as the war between modesty and vanity

is fought with the size and shape of fabric, covering

or revealing skin of all hues. Some burn red while others

slather sunscreen. Some are confident of their beauty

and some oblivious or still living in their younger selves.

But really, what does it matter? Here, bodies of all sizes

and shapes lie, swim, or walk next to one another.

The sun shines on all the same, and the pelican

diving for a fish could care less. Beauty is

a social construct, and fashion reigns here

as much as anywhere, yet the most human

are the most comfortable in their own skin.

The Intergalactic Traveler Visits the Delta

Determined that kudzu and armadillos not be

the only alien creatures to inhabit the South,

the intergalactic traveler lands in Memphis, drives

right past Graceland, where he would only stand out

as the least bizarre in the crowd of tourists,

and escapes into the starry night of the Delta.

Here humidity is as rife as moonshine and inequality.

Deer antlers decorate the grills of pickups, and locusts

serenade rusted windmills with their own blues.

Here he witnesses whole communities run on lard

and high-fructose fizzy water that grease the wheels

of corruption and oppression, hiding huge prisons

behind fields of cotton and soybeans, where frat boys

shoot holes in history markers to pose for Instagram.

Surely, he’s been to poorer, less hospitable corners

of the universe: asteroids, deserted planets, black holes,

to name a few, but on a pitch-dark, two-lane highway

under a brilliant milky way, the intergalactic traveler

has never felt more remote and yet more at home.

A Different Wind

Is it a different wind that blows

in the fall or is it that the leaves

are dry, not full of life as they are

in the soft spring breeze.

I’ve been told you can’t fly a kite

in the fall because the cold winds

sweep down from the clouds

and won’t provide enough lift.

Yet I see turkey buzzards soaring

nearly motionless on the updraft.

They have learned the art

of navigating in the cold.

If only I could soar with them

and find my wings on these

chilly drafts or learn to fly

to where the wind is warm.

Beaver Moon

As the sun spills blood

across the western hills,

the full moon slowly rises

from behind a dark cloud.

This is no Hunter’s moon.

Instead, orange and round

as a pumpkin, its light

blesses the animals.

May the turkey and the deer

discover the hunter’s blinds

and escape to breed again.

May the beaver and the fox,

even the coyote find a home

out of the cold, may the bear

find a cave befitting its long

winter sleep and may you

and I, my love, find our own

shelter to keep us warm.

Crow

Would I were a crow, a dark
contrast to all around, a black
shadow in the sky that casts
deeper shadows on the ground.

Would that I could fly
over rivers and over fields,
searching for corn or a tree
to roost in, or just because I can.

No one is more self-assured.
No creature more composed.
When I would speak, no one
would dare misunderstand.