I put my ear to the road,
tried to find your footsteps,
my cheek, to see if the path
was still warm where you passed,
or cold like yesterday’s coffee.
Still your taste lingered in my senses,
filled hollow spots.
I saw mirrors of you
reflected in the dips and valleys ahead,
behind, on stretches that fell below the horizon.
I wanted to follow, to catch up,
go back--whichever
but I was lost with your shape shifting.

Why do the ponds in your eyes stay just beyond reason?
I can touch them when I close my eyes;
they fly into nowhere when I look again.

2001 Margaret Ellis Hill
(All Rights Reserved)
Biographical Essay


Chairs

In a parking lot
oak chairs huddle,
some askew,
a hundred or more
roped together,
all the same
for sale--
ghosts of unknown
trees.

2001 Margaret Ellis Hill
(All Rights Reserved)
Biographical Essay


Girls Day Out

It’s a quaint town,
raised wooden sidewalks,
store fronts restored
to original gingerbread facades.

I sit on an old wooden bench
and watch a girls’ day out.

The procession reminds me of gray geese
behind a determined leader.
The line waddles silently;
No one looks in any direction or up
as they pass in front of me.

Finally, the leader opens a door,
one by one they enter to something,
the door closes, and they seem
swallowed up with duty
like tales of town history.

I hope they remember how to smile.

2001 Margaret Ellis Hill
(All Rights Reserved)
Biographical Essay


Out on a Limb

On a stark outcropping
I discover a tree
sculptured by elements--
a raised arm, twisted
loose-fisted hand,
one crooked limb finger
pointing eastward.

The silhouette against a pink-tinged sky
shows outstretched lines,
as in the palm of a hand
presented to a seer
to determine fate.

In the crux of crossed branches
is a tangle of twigs and down,
a cupped home out on a limb, empty,
kept there by the grace of God
or luck.

I wonder if those
who fly away from a cradle,
find their legacy
with the rising Sun,
or trust in soothsayers
and other manners of thought.

2001 Margaret Ellis Hill 3
(All Rights Reserved)
Biographical Essay


Attention Getting

I always figured
that body ornaments
were status symbols
or attention getting devices.

Service men needed tattoos
as indelible reminders;
in case the mind forgot Mom,
the picture would remind.
Now-a-days tattoos artists
keep busy inking everyone.

Earrings, seductive embellishment
to femininity, have bucked the system.
Even men wear little diamonds and hoops,
And body piercing for all,
in places other than ears,
is the trend.

Hairdo’s have gone from unkempt
to uncouth to unwashed.
Unconventional spikes, shavings, lengths
with amazing colors are like fairy tales
come to life.

Clothing from mod to squalid
to opaque is weirdly distinct--
Anything goes in a world of undress.

In this world of contrasts,
I wonder if I was born too soon or too late
in order to prove my worth
or is it modern angst for them
to have a desperate need to stand out
even when they all look alike.

2001 Margaret Ellis Hill
(All Rights Reserved)
Biographical Essay


A Simple Thing As Love

The frames of what we did
run in slow motion,
a desperate grasp to remember
the feel of your mouth,
color of your eyes,
fingers in your hair,
warm embraces,
to keep close in my mind.
You had to leave me here,
and all of this complicates
a simple thing as love.

And slower frames of how we were
lie on my chest
fragrant with the tongue’s taste
of soft silky breasts
layered with hand’s need
and mine entwined on rumpled sheets
to cloud my mind.
You had to leave me here,
and all of this complicates
a simple thing as love.

The frame has stopped,
the picture dulled to time past.
You will always be gone,
a past tense of pretend passion,
But I wanted you to stay,
needed you to love me
but love cannot be forced or sprung.
Tears claim my eyes
rain, my mind.
You were never here,
and all of this complicates
a simple thing as love.

2001 Margaret Ellis Hill
(All Rights Reserved)
Biographical Essay
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