poets, faithful to work that will meet
with quiet. In praise of minor deities
and whoever dreamed them up. Made
Ariadne the goddess of passion
and also mazes. Circuity and doubling
back. In praise of college minors:
Brewing. Cinema. Latin, though long
dead. Praise Canis Minor, steadfast, forever
the lesser dog. Praise minor chords
that have consonance. A sadness
that resolves. Let’s praise minor
inconveniences. The onions quick-
slipped from your sandwich, set
down on your sweetheart’s waiting
plate. In the kitchen they made the line cook
cry. Praise minor tributaries,
all that sliding water giving itself
to another. In this minor league park,
praise the runner, breaking for home
on a sacrifice fly. He doesn’t
make it. Praise the runner.
When the phone trembles
his pocket, for a beat it’s always Boston.
We need you. Come now.
Evening, September, and cold moves
from Casco Bay. The sky is burdening;
they’re tarping the field. Still, you could stay.
Maybe minor weather. Showers passing by.
Abbie Kiefer is a poet from New Hampshire. Her work is forthcoming or has appeared in The Cincinnati Review, Ninth Letter, Ploughshares, Poet Lore, Poetry Northwest, and other places. She was a 2022 semifinalist for the 92Y Discovery Prize and is on the staff of The Adroit Journal. Find her online at abbiekieferpoet.com.