J Kramer Hare
Night Music
Our dishwasher is water tumbling over stone:
a laminar, clear column, water smoothly breaks
and clings to stone, polishing and polishing.
Our dishwasher is a beehive near the waterfall:
ever industrious, the laborers sing their labor’s
droning harmony, chorusing and chorusing.
The waterfall and beehive (which together are
the dishwasher) hide around the corner from
our bedroom door. Beside me, you are sleeping.
Awake, I hear them from the bed. Intermittently, a stag
must come to the stream, or another large mammal;
I hear a great thirst slaked: slurping and slurping.
I think to wake you; together we could sneak
up to water, up to stone, to bees and stag:
pounce! catch the magic everybody’s seeking.
But stag, bees, stone, and water would become,
were we to accost them: a dishwasher,
which they are and will continue being.
J Kramer Hare (he/him) hails from Pittsburgh, PA. He is a rock-climber, jazz-head, Best of the Net nominee, and volunteer critic with Pencilhouse. Look for his latest work in Rust and Moth, Magpie Zine, and the Dawn Review. You can find him at kramerpoetry.com.