David A. Goodrum

Letter of Introduction


While the wet field drowns and rots
seeds, I am a daffodil bulb thriving
in the ditch, a complete
life cycle stored underground.

A desiccated leaf draped
and frozen on the post,
I bare skeleton, remnants
of organs, soul. I praise

the darkness of tree trucks
that strike down power lines
as they pass through intersections
with elbows raised too high.

I offer double vision: shoplifted
recollections declared as my own
and my memories, haphazardly
evaporated, raked for crystal residues.

I decipher the dust-free shadows revealed
when heirlooms are knocked off the shelf.
My green eyes, when closed
and pressed, reveal nebula stars.

Exhausted from scratching
through needle drop on the forest floor,
I am a spotted towhee asleep in the dark
just before it wakes and starts to sing.



David A. Goodrum, writer/photographer, lives in Corvallis, Oregon. His poems are forthcoming or have been published in Tar River Poetry, The Inflectionist Review, Passengers Journal, Cathexis Northwest Press, Wild Roof Journal, Scapegoat Review, Triggerfish Critical Review, among others. Even before his early thirties, he was certain he would never write poetry again. He continues, it seems, to be wrong. About most things. Additional work (poetry and photography) can be viewed at www.davidgoodrum.com.