Sally Zakariya




The Written Word

 

After we were tucked in

after she settled her mother

for the night, brushing the long white hair

setting the silver bell by her bedside

after she let Dusty out in the yard

and then back in

 

After that my mother would retreat

into words, novel open

cigarettes at hand

 

Or she'd take the Smith Corona

to the bathroom and send

crisp black letters across the page

each keystroke pinning words on paper

like insects in a specimen case

 

With the spoken word

she was less forthcoming

dinnertime debates would drive her

from the room

some things (she said)

a well-bred person simply doesn't speak of

money for one or sickness or politics

or feelings or Great Aunt Sarah's

disastrous marriage

 

The many things she never

told me would fill pages

what it was like to be an afterthought

third girl years later, not the son

they hoped for

what it was like to lose the man

before my father

the man who gave her the small figure

of a fox she so treasured

what it was like to try

and fail at a life on stage

speaking someone else's

written words

 


Lullaby for a Winter Evening

 

Lie down and let me tell you about snow

about geometry and silence

two parts cold to one part marvel

let me tell you of the twofold

mystery of its nature

how a single flake

dissolves at once

how two flakes linger

when they gather

whitely on the ground

 

Lie down and lift your face to snow

drifting down like petals

in a spring orchard

taste it on your tongue

a fleeting kiss of ice

 

Lie down and listen to the wind

wind through the apple trees

twisting the bare twigs

into complex runes

against a curtained sky

spelling out a recipe

for snow

 

 

As a Bird

 

It is the wings themselves I want

the strength and loft and beat of them

 

I feel the hollowing of my bones

the lengthening of my fingers

the hairs on my arms becoming feathers

 

I feel the birdsong rising in my throat

            the notes an invitation

 

I feel my ties to the earth so frail a good hard flap
would break them

 

Sing me a lullaby as I rise pulled skyward by
the wings I wished for 

pulled skyward as a bird skims the clouds





Sally Zakariya's poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Emerge, Third Wednesday, Evening Street Review, Theodate, and Southern Women's Review. Her poetry has won prizes from the Poetry Society of Virginia and the Virginia Writers Club. Her chapbooks, Insectomania (2013) and Arithmetic and other verses (2011), were published by Richer Resources Publications. Sally lives in Arlington, Virginia, and blogs at www.ButDoesItRhyme.com.   










                                    

 

Home
Current Issue
Submissions
Contributors' Notes


Email this poem Printer friendly page

A CLOSER LOOK: Jane Shore

Indran Amirthanayagam

Nan Becker

C. Wade Bentley

Gigi Bradford on Hailey Leithauser

Patricia Davis

Stephen Devereux

Gail Rudd Entrekin

C.M. Foltz

Anton Frost

Paul Grayson

Hedy Habra

Patricia L. Hamilton

Maryanne Hannan on Suzette Marie Bishop

Donald Illich

Sonja James

Judy Kronenfeld

Hiram Larew

Jeanne Larsen

Sean Lause

Mark Mansfield

Laura Manuelidis

David McAleavey on Terence Winch

Mark McBride

George Moore

Christopher Norris

Barry North

Andrew Oerke

Al Ortolani

Jef Otte

William Page

Rebecca Parson

Beth Paulson

Patric Pepper

Simon Perchik

Heddy Reid

Oliver Rice

William Rivera

Joseph Saling

Dave Seter

Felicity Sheehy

Robert Joe Stout

Paul Tayyar

Jennifer Wallace

Robert Wexelblatt

Anne Harding Woodworth on Jody Bolz

Katherine E. Young

Sally Zakariya

Burgi Zenhaeusern

More

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

       

 

 

 

 

 


Last Updated: Feb 24, 2017 - 9:01:52 AM

Copyright 2005 - 2016 Cook Communication.