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Rain has dissolved the early winter snow in this northern town. I wander inside between seasons. Aging weakness marks the house with quiet. Cool air no longer brings solace and companionship. How do I share wisdom that came so painfully? The chair leans with everyone's weight. Sharp colors of cloth run together from bodies sliding in and out. Days no longer offer enough hours. My legs are on fire with age. The dormant sky waits like a Pincherry seed holding fertile soil. Here, on the table, food breaks into bread. Hunger lies still. In my hand a fossiled stone holds day and night, hot and cold in its belly. We searched the beach for connections of stone and town. Childhood hands lift one rock mirroring lake and home. Daylight voices travel lightly and enter walls. Memories rattle the windows. |
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Christina-marie (Christina Marie Umscheid), born 1946 in Weiden, West Germany was raised in Saint Louis, Missouri and has lived in Petoskey, Michigan since 1976. Publishings include such magazines as; CHICAGO REVIEW, HIRAM POETRY REVIEW, CALIBAN, ODYSSEY, THE POETRY REVIEW, NEGATIVE CAPABILITY, THE OLD RED KIMONO, GREAT LAKES REVIEW, HURON REVIEW, THE MAC GUFFIN, SOU'WESTER, GREAT MIDWESTERN QUARTERLY and MOONSHADE(e-zine and paper). |
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