Luminology by Phillip Crymble

July 28, 2022
Poet name: Phillip Crymble Poem name: Luminology Poem: It doesn’t mean that much to me — people on a trampoline, their roadside garden, sunlight, grades of summer green all chosen as if entries in a catalogue. Field notes leave me wondering what we’re afforded. Is it plain to see? Faint laughter, open motion caught, a beat-up truck, enough to please, enough to make the table-cloth the women shake out thoughtlessly toward the fields seem golden. Mist as fine as chalk- dust on the corn rows now — a slow explosion settling. It travels down the furrows, twists and breathes the night, moves deeper still. Fireflies crowd the undersides of leaves, lay eggs, cast yellow protein-light that glistens in the nebula. New constellations burning free, a back-drop... but I’m one to talk, it doesn’t mean that much to me. It doesn’t. End of poem. Credits and bio: Copyright © Phillip Crymble Previously published in CV2 (Summer 2012) appears in Not Even Laughter (Salmon Poetry, 2015). Phillip Crymble is a physically disabled writer living in Atlantic Canada. A poetry editor at The Fiddlehead, he has published poems in This Magazine, The Literary Review of Canada, The Malahat Review, The West End Phoenix, The Puritan, and elsewhere. In 2015, Not Even Laughter, his first book-length collection, was released by Salmon Poetry.