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1.
yesterday's grey shines
silver, snow muddied by wear
renewed by morning
2.
cherry blossoms droop
burdened by wind and rain
in my hand one petal
3.
pink buds kiss air, await
sun's hot tongue to release
their handful of lust
In the Heat of an October Night
Black before time, the sky spools yellow
through treetops, illuminating maple skeletons.
Thunder tumbles across sullen fields, spills fear
from chasms that spit dark, then darker.
We ignite candles, gather flashlights, rummage
for a cache of candy.
Shadows thrown by fingertip flames drop
from walls, shift left to right, lengthen to reveal
secrets normally wound tight within our frames:
we're more alone than we thought, more afraid
than we admit, less defined by day than night.
In the absence of color, the absence of clamor, desire
assumes shapes recalled to the tune of water on glass,
the hollow of night, a flicker of light wrapping bare trees.
- previously published in MoveoAngelus Literary Arts
Deleted
The smudge of another day
blurs treetops and words
I wish I swallowed
are snow burdening roses
that blossomed in late November.
Your half of the bed
is cool to my touch, unwrinkled
by your spine curving away.
***
During the 1990s I took six years off teaching to stay home with my
children. I resisted buying a computer in 1997 because I couldn't imagine
why I'd want to spend time conversing with or reading about people I'd never met.
When asked what kind of hobbies or interests their mother has, my children
answer, "Email."
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