Our latest Poem Of The Week, selected by Poetry Ireland, is Grasshoppers by Chelsea Whitton.


All of the bees have gone or have yet to arrive.

Now the flowers seem suddenly terribly

impotent. There will only be so many now.

Now the sun is so bright is so white it is green.

Our fingers get long in the light.

They get strange and we begin to feel

unwell. We reach hard for each other.

This is the first (and last) day of the world.

I say look. I say smoke.

It is coming way from over there,

way far back behind all those trees.

You say does it have to be smoke?

I say yes and this isn’t my fault and I love you.

The world is very old and very innocent.

We lie down.

We lie bellydown in a brown and yellow field.

We lie down in a little quiet.

We say a field is called a quiet, now.

Then we say nothing for a while,

and only comb the quiet grass for grasshoppers.

Some of them are enormous. Some can fly.

They fly away from us, but only far enough to get away.

Is this because they like us, secretly?

Or is it just that they don’t want to be alone today?

We half close our eyes.

Now there are clouds.

Now there are many kinds of clouds.

I know the difference. You say there is no difference.

About The Poet: Chelsea Whitton is an American poet and essayist. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in various web and print publications, including Cimarron Review, Bateau, Forklift Ohio, WomenArts Quarterly, Main Street Rag, and Stand. Her first chapbook, Bear Trap, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. She lives in Ridgewood, Queens, with her husband and cat. Her poem Grasshoppers was published in issue 121 of the Poetry Ireland Review (2017).