POETRYCommon Soundsby Gabriel Furshong
Crossing the foot of the mountain
sirens pierced through
the wall of wind in the grass
the common sound of an ambulance
like the common sound of a broom
sweeping away the littered bodies
of cockroaches from the kitchen
a swift and regular motion
We must be here at the pleasure of something
but we are not
then because of the passing on of things
to take notice
a sudden curl in your hair
as we near the vast ocean
Gabriel Furshong writes from Missoula, MT, where he works for the Montana Wilderness Association. His essays and reporting have appeared in High Country News, the Earth Island Journal and the Cobalt Review, among other publications. His poetry has been printed or is forthcoming in the anthology, “I Go to the Ruined Place,” (Lost Horse Press), the CutBank Literary Magazine and the Cossack Review.
