Thoughts — Terry Savoie

“the object speaks, it induces us, vaguely, to think”
                                                  Roland Barthes

I’ve been thinking how grass thinks & how the privet hedge
      thinks & how our sewage flowing beneath the street thinks
as it slogs unceasingly down to the river & how my bicycle thinks
      in that Ferris-Wheel-Go-Round fashion because, without a doubt,
it too must have a mind of its own for the random & occasional thought
      whereas, when another rides, I can only surmise she might prefer
giving the handlebars free rein without any thought of guidance what-
      soever, but, as I ride down the street, I venture that the ancient
oaks lining our parkway think even though their thinking may be
      antiquated & somewhat reminiscent of the last century’s thinking,
a mode that involved, as it oftentimes did, curious notions bordering
      the ontological although indeed there might be moments when
what oaks most desire is simply a primitive & full-on, I-Thou bear hug,
      with no holds barred. I’m thinking now, however, that my house
perhaps doesn’t think at all having had its fill of simply the living going
      on inside without much thinking at all therein, & that sets me
on the dusty road riding toward that rosy finger of sunset where all oaken
      thoughts travel down memory lane where they remember kinfolk
who became board planks & lived on as if all that was meaningful
      might be Monday’s galaxy of paint choices or Tuesday’s gutter
repairs necessary without once mentioning Friday’s state of confusion
      when facing the relative benefits of granite rather than imported
marble countertops as if all that occupied the corner niche of any mind
      was a question about the size of the plasma TV to purchase & mount
before next Sunday’s big game. I’m thinking that that is not so good & may
      reduce itself to a muddle of mental disarray, but then I see the spring grass
thinking & I imagine what lovesick voles think concerning the grubs who are also
      thinking even as they persist in their filthy ways of existence, thinking how
they will just end up as another’s meal & I’m thinking, come to think about
      it, that that’s not so bad, that sort of thinking after all, filled with so many
tiny jubilations & wonders, all of them perfect in & of themselves & marvelous,
      undoubtedly, when one puts a mind to it, slows down & begins to think of
this one precious day; that’s a lucky thought, indeed, wouldn’t you think it so?


Nearly four hundred of Terry Savoie‘s poems have been published in journals and anthologies both here and abroad over the past four decades. These include APR, Ploughshares, ACM, The Iowa Review and North American Review as well as recent or forthcoming issues of The American Journal of Poetry,One, Bluestem, Cortland Review, Chiron Review Tar River and Coal Hill Review among several others.  A chapbook, Reading Sunday, won the Bright Hill Competition and was published in the spring of 2018.