by Roger Pfingston While sitting at dusk, trying to spot the drink-your-tea bird, a faint ticking in the lilac bush (like a tiny lid dancing on a thimble of simmering water) has me up and craning, straining to match tick with ticker. No, not the daddy-longlegs hanging up- side down, wired like a listening device, nor the moth about to bloom like a night flower, but higher still to the topmost leaf where a katydid sits, thinking itself invisibly green and grinning, I swear, beneath a pair of grand antennae.
A retired teacher of English and photography, Roger Pfingston is the recipient of a Creative Writing Fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts and two PEN Syndicated Fiction Awards. He is the author of Something Iridescent, a collection of poetry and fiction, as well as five chapbooks, the most recent being What’s Given, available from Kattywompus Press. He has new poems in The American Journal of Poetry, I-70 Review, Innisfree Poetry Journal, Hamilton Stone Review, and Valparaiso Poetry Review.