The Pear Eaters On raised legs the foxes slide their incisors over hard green pears suspended on the stem, still so firmly attached they do not fall to the ground to be finished off. Others fall, that foxes leave, having eaten carousels of bite-fulls, leaving others to the groundhog. I leave the incisored ones on the branch, rescue those untouched to bring inside to ripen. © Laura Rodley, 2019 Laura Rodley is a Massachusetts poet whose latest … [Read more...]
Laura Rodley “Finally Home”
Finally Home She hangs straight down feelers embedded in the comfrey’s pale purple cup sipping on summer nectar as through returning to the cocoon from which she emerged at early fall’s late dawn, wings flat as though still drying, perfect in symmetry and comfort to the eye. There too, her partner in nectar, the hummingbird dips her long tongue into comfrey’s bells, silent clappers, and into the mouth of jewelweed, nature’s own uncultured orchid, orange, … [Read more...]
Laura Rodley “Madelyn”
Here in Chicago there is no snow on the ground, but some parts of the Northeast are experiencing a Snow Day. So that’s why this poem by Laura Rodley about a runner in the snowy woods seems appropriate. Thanks to Laura Rodley for letting me share her work here. Madelyn She runs without breaking the crust of snow, snow two feet deep, slick with ice, even glows in later sun but that’s not when she runs, her tracks lighter than deer who break through, … [Read more...]
Hunger by Laura Rodley
Hunger Does the maple leaf hunger for the sun, shaking hands with its light, the light that turns the maples’ leaves to rusty orange, heavy with color, so heavy they drop? Does the cardinal hunger for its mate, how they are never more than twenty feet away from each other, the wind of their flight, attaining bird seeds or shelter, so close they thrive? Do the deer hunger for acorns, remembering the buttery taste of those already eaten, or do they step … [Read more...]
Guest Post: Laura Rodley “Gateway”
Gateway Gateway to heaven, Cecropia flits to my doorway, flaps her wings, Morse code from God, life everlasting, she lays her full body against my brass doorknob. Her journey is done, her wings are tattered, she will lay her eggs and disappear. Like all faith, she is ephemeral and falls down from the skies. How did she find me? How did she know I was seeking solace? And she brought a disciple, another Cecropia, much smaller, that lay beside the lit porch … [Read more...]
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