Poetry

Brazen Nature

The ginkgo trees let loose their leaves
all at once, a shower of squash yellow sunshine
dusting the somber asphalt and the sheepish corner park,
both blushing at the loud farewell.

when you can’t guess the ending

blue vein clear and insistent on a pale calf, ashy from an early winter. blue vein memory of an indian summer afternoon stranded in the lake, jet ski started, stalled, tipping over, refusal to believe our weight was too much, insistent we could float together. I pulled myself up, legs banging hard, artificial edges. I pulled myself up, pulled myself up, pulled myself up until my bruises swam to shore. the blue of that lake, pulsing and still, just visible underneath.

Yggdrasil

Huginn and Muninn, the ravens return,
thought and memory
perch on your doorstep.
Their silent counsel: it cannot be done
as it has always been done.
The branches are strong
and will hold the weight of sacrifice.
The Norns see all, say nothing.
They know Odin’s eye is hidden
as the tree knows your name,
written in marrow,
as the leaves whisper tales of death
and remind you: traitors hang
head to the ground.

Unseasonably Warm

the misled tree buds in November,
under every scar a battle fought
some wiser than others.

when you choose to feel it fully

The coffee cup with edges crusty, milky rings long dried in its depth still sits on the teetering tower of books next to my bed, just within reach of my closet floor, a jumbled accident of shoes and boots, handbags out of season or worn out or both. The mirror mimics a cloud, the bed is still rumpled and a whole day could be spent righting these wrongs, avoiding the color of November light and the texture of a lived-in life.

Heritage

Attempting to make beet kvass,
simple Slavic blood-strengthening tonic.
There is no family recipe,
just the cook, water, sea salt
and the roots, bleeding purple-red birthmarks
on determined hands.

a m o r e t

in the eye of the heart

Poetry

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