The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Saundra Rose Maley

On Not Having Written for a Long While

I look out over this deep white forest
For a place to begin and it is always the same.
I stop just before the invisible trees—

Afraid to be trapped like my grandfather
In the miles of Eckhart mines, or condemned
Like his heavy wife, to a black dress

And dark resentments—I shudder
Against this stopping and the deep
White woods growing darker.


Transfiguration
  
One bud beyond its measure breaks
Such practice for the heart—

No longer habitable, that place
Urgent, green, and taut.

I long for wings, not words
And longing’s but a wish

I dangle idly, lost—   
Love still doing its work.   




Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication