What else is black?
A dragonfly frequenting backyards,
Flat wings, smear soot thin.
A rural road’s moonless night
where tree branches take
the passer-by pulse—they rustle
the scrape history lammed
onto bark thinly thinly
as dragonfly wings and first time
hearing white tail bucks stamp
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and hiss in the pitch dark I tumble
into the ditch prostrate like a penitent.
Between Grief and Joy The beaten path is nondescript, a right of way through pristine lawns and tree-lined streets of gracious homes, well-shaded in the heat of day and sound as caves on winter nights, with mantled fires burning low to warm the dens of hibernating souls. You head due south beyond the park and […]
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Cold Comfort I watched a deer standing in the snow— first star of evening caught in the branches of the pines. As dusk fell, its mate bounded into the clearing. They breathed into each other’s noses and I ached to be like them.
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Left with the Care of the Farm The banty rooster’s strident call is light years from grinding war, spinning news, suspicions of sects and warring politicians. His raucous bluster reminds me of a push-button toy gargling squawks only a child enjoys. A hawk whistles across the pasture. The rooster heard it, a wild away. He […]
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This is the last in a series of three installments for Visitant featuring collaborative works from poet Dennis R. Kolakowski and artists Bruce Pipman and Charles W. “Bud” Gibbons, III. Biographies and back story below. No Creek Up Here Every beer I ever swallowed has been a fair investment in this moment, but Lord what I wouldn’t give right now […]
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I grew up in rural Maryland in a developed neighborhood in the woods (although when my family first moved there, we were the only house on our non-square block). I picked a lot of berries in the forest and along the lake, but my foraging didn’t go much beyond that. This winter, my boyfriend accompanied […]
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