"Words' Worth" Poetry Readings
Poets at the Culture, Arts, and Parks Committee
of the Seattle City Council.
The Dogwood by Judy Skillman
I remember my father staring up at the dogwood
as if it held some secret. Perhaps a face,
or a star whose light would tell
how the old universe was, whether
this was the only universe, and if, beyond
the discussions we had late at night
about what existed outside the boundaries
of the universe, there might be any other
kind of talk. I remember
wondering why the dogwood's blossoms
were so precious. Spectacular and showy,
even the magnolia couldn't compete.
Each one opened up like a cup to the heavens,
soaking up light so it could become more special
Lines were strung
above the dogwood
from house to house
wo we could talk to our neighbors. Power coursed
through the lines, sometimes making the staccato hiss the would tell
the pink beings who lived in the radio
where we were, how close it was
to morning, and what we talked about.
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