4:44 – By Rustin Larson
My guitar and I share DNA. Behind its strings sometimes,
some evenings, I put words to it,
how I am “a rat in a cage”
though I don’t sing this very loudly
for fear of the neighbor’s terrier.
When I use the public bathroom in the wee
morning hours, I hear from the adjacent stall
a squealing like that of a puppy or a guinea pig
or a vampire squatting there, his leather
wings folded around him.
When I go back to sleep, I can’t,
and so the early morning hours and I
share the same whispering stars.
Then at 4:44 a.m. all the birds wake up
and start worshipping loudly and excitedly—
Methodists in their finest plumage—
call and response—hallelujah, brothers & sisters,
Verdant is the world in its ripeness