h. edgar hix

Mountain Runner

He runs the mountains: not up or down them
but through the sacred trees, along the paths
of elk and long horned sheep, with the small streams
that slowly eat their mountains.
                                                       He doesn’t
sweat so much as pray the way clouds pray:
covering and cleaning the earth, giving
themselves to the mountains.
                                                  He runs like the
little things, rabbits and mice, squirrels, opossums;
he hears the large shaking of the brush and
sees the eagle’s shadow.
                                             He has no name
as he runs. He hears Canadian geese
naming the south wind. That is enough.

Waiting Room

The brown rug,
carefully chosen to not show dirt,
lies around us, silently gathering dust.

Last year’s magazines
litter the white end tables.

The light cowers
in small floor lamps
and tiny ceiling spots.

A single box of tissues threatens us
with its soft white flag.

Waiting for the Thunder

I was using my bedroom mirror when the electricity went off.

          The lights blinked out.
          The clock stopped.
          The lady singing
          on the radio died.
          The air conditioner
          squeaked once and
          ground to a halt.

All I could see was the darkness reflected in my eyes.

Pilate/What Hair I Have

In the Men’s Room
two mirrors
face each other
on parallel walls.

I look up
from washing my hands
and see an infinite
number of Edgars.

It is like looking at
the chrysalis of time.
It is like having
God’s eyes.

A toilet flushes.
I dry my hands
and decide not to comb
what hair I have.

(“Mountain Runner” and “Waiting Room” first appeared in Waterways: Poetry In the Mainstream)

H. Edgar Hix is a Santa Claus lookalike living in Minneapolis, MN, a sometimes North Pole lookalike. He lives with his artist wife, Julie, seven cats and a dog in a small, cluttered home on the south side. He is the uncle of the much better known poet H. L. Hix. Hix has been publishing poetry for over 40 years. He strives for eclecticism in his work and in his life. He says you’d be amazed at how many books, stuffed animals and dolls can be crammed into one home, but is currently unemployed, so he won’t be cramming in too many more in the near future.

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