I love that there is a line of light on the horizon,
a gleam just beyond
A glow of grey at the billowing edge of green,
the globes atop tree branches
It is dark in the corners –
But there, far away, it is bright.
Category Archives: Poetry
Skin Deep
A bloody gouge across my ring finger
coagulated and dark by the end of the fray
Tiny teeth marks amidst pink raised skin
Ragged red streaks where fingernails have strayed
The physical signs of one morning of motherhood
These are nothing of the mental anguish,
the emotional toll
the trials and tribulations
of getting out of bed and out the door
Today there are scars to show
for all the toil
Outward reminders
of what is always underneath
Mother’s Milk
This tiny little person
latched on to my body
as long as I am wide
Miniature fist clenched around a rib of fabric,
holding on for dear life
Eyes arched in ecstasy,
then drooped in slumber
More parasitic than symbiotic,
but the sweetest symbol ever seen
Silver Insomniac
There’s a pool of light in the backyard
It spills over the tree tops
but appears to be carved out of the grass
an oval grotto of white,
silver amongst the shadows
If it weren’t for insomnia
I wouldn’t have seen it,
Wouldn’t have seen the cool, clear light
bright amidst the dark
Being awake at this hour seems unnatural,
is unnatural
in terms of the real world
But in the magic of these moonbeams
I am wide open
Two to Two
I went to sleep in the springtime
I awoke in summer
A riot of green,
a vibrant rush,
an air of energy
My body reclaimed and yet not my own
Inside out
the protective covering of conception gone
Gaunt fingers and ankles
ghosts of padded appendages
no longer needed to sustain life
for two
Whole again
and yet suddenly separate
A new path split
in two
Nighttime Jewels
An island of green encrusted in jewels
illuminated by the light of oncoming traffic
globes of dandelion fluff sparkling
in the beams undercutting the night mist
a field of glittering diamonds
nothing but a mess of a nuisance by day
The Ghost of Winter
The ghost of winter,
a puff of breath
whisking swirls of snow
off the branches and into the air
suspended
a last gasp of cold crystals
the pine boughs flash frozen for a moment
and then it’s gone,
green grass poking through the raised mounds of snow
pushed upwards
by the fledgling growth of spring
a delicate dance
threatening
but gone in the blink of an eye
blackhillsfox.com
Looking for Signs of Life
A brown curled claw
skittering along the ground
Singular movement amidst
the frozen expanse of pavement
Only when you get close enough to see the fingers,
knuckles scraping the rocky surface,
can you distinguish the knobs of an oak leaf,
stem protruding like a tail
Propelled by the wind
a legion of birds wrapped in wing
a chipmunk
a squirrel,
a lizard scampering by
All alive according to the eye
But in this cold raw place between snow and spring
dry, brittle leaves are all that dance
born on the rhythm of weather patterns and wishful thinking
Knots
Why do we not let ourselves be held?
Are we afraid of the fallout?
Of the softening
that occurs with the slightest
of pressure on the hard outer shell
Cracking the protection
we have absurdly built up
Thinking we can fool
the shadows that lurk
just out of sight
A touch, a push, a gentle squeeze
and it all comes rushing to the surface
Releasing the tension
that does nothing but tie us up
Chopping Potatoes 