Posts in Poetry
The Old End of the Barn

Turning over in bed, inching closer to the edge,
she swings her legs around to touch the floor
and rises slowly, not knowing which body part
will sound the alarm. Some days, she crumples
as the pain excruciates up and down
her left side from hip to knee.
She knows the more she moves,
the better she will feel.
Limping to the kitchen for coffee,
human again, the self of her memories,
of pleasure and assurance.

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PoetryEvie SafranComment
The Pendulum of Time

I.
A baby blue bowl floating in a sea
Peony petals rippling the pond
A bird’s nest of freshly kindled eggs.

And this is where sentiment blooms, invigorated in the vein of the pulp. This is where a pollen grain can hitherto germinate, in the buds of white trees. White shoots, not white roots, my father tells me.

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