poetry

Mariah Leach’s Defiant Daffodils

Photo by Mariah Zebrowski Leach.

Mariah Leach’s Defiant Daffodils

They were such a steady sign of spring
and, more than that,
of hope and the extravagant beauty
the cold ground could hold
that they captivated her gaze
year after year,
and she couldn’t help but see them
and celebrate their joyful presence
with at least one quick photo.
Looking back now
a parade of children joined them
also beckoned by the intense gold
when sun lit petal cells until they glowed.

Now they’ve pushed through
the burned crust of what was,
the tips of their long green leaves
yellowed by flame, singed
but still singing their spring song.
They refuse not to witness,
to not assert joy in a scene
where despair is easy to give way to.

This is what we do:
we press on and up
pushing aside impervious barriers
finding the sun through the intense dark cold.
We stand defiant among the wreckage.
We simply do what we’ve been made to do.
We grow. We shine.

poetry

first cleared lot seen

first cleared lot seen

driving home from the vet today
not thinking of anything
the flat beige lot hits me
like a frying pan across the forehead:
the first cleared lot I’ve seen,
ready to plant a new life on
like the bright green grass
now painting the black hills
with unexpected hope,
its strong roots dug into
the same tough earth,
ready to reach toward the light
tomorrow

poetry

Lost Bounce

Photo by Amanda Pampuro of Courthouse News.

Lost Bounce

Inspired by a prompt from Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s Loving the Self: A Poetry Playshop.

the sight of all the burned-out trampolines
flipped over, blown far from their families
silver u’s sticking into the air
like uncomfortable metal bridgework
puts a little hollowness in me these days –
you know there are not-laughing children
to go with each one

trampoline, you raise us up and encircle us
make a safe-ish place to be wild
test limits and bump up against our edges
you launch us into that part of childhood
that’s more about risk than safety
and make a quiet screened place
to whisper with friends

black and blue and endlessly round
you teach us how to lighten up
and we feel the pleasure of becoming buoyant
internalize that we are capable
of reaching much greater heights
than we ever thought

we love you for your whiff of danger
the broken clips and snagged nets
blue borders always shredding away to nothingness
your tenuous connection to earth
and warm embrace of sky

our muscles absorb how to bounce back
we integrate the feel of resilience
how to float and sink and go
with what the moment demands
rather than stiffly thudding through each jolt and jar

so each abandoned naked metal circle
makes my mouth go sour
makes my heart sink a touch lower

poetry

To the Mangled

To the Mangled

now we bow to the mangled
three-legged dogs
soldiers covered in scars
deckhands maimed by sharks
to those whose forms changed in an instant
bikers crushed by trucks
women falling in the shower on vacation in Cancun
boys fumbling with fireworks
to the souls who stayed whole
even after bodies were broken
after the slipped table saw blade
the faltering plastic surgeon
the heavy machinery suddenly backing
and right here
on this tropical island
to a cheerful white bird
unaccountably battered by a stick
in the rough hands of a brutal stranger

Cocky’s half the bird he was
paralyzed from the hips down now
dragging himself by his beak
blind in one eye
his legs twisted
tail covered in excrement
and still when you walk past
he calls out hopefully
“Hello, Cocky!”
and if you stop
he’ll laugh until you start, too,
or cry like a baby if you walk on

looking into his good eye
you see he’ll graciously accept
a gentle ruffle of his feathers and a kind word
and if you’ve peanuts
he’ll even tip his crest to you in thanks
his unwarranted trust
pains me every time

some souls
no matter how beat down
how twisted by fate
can’t help but continue to hope
to still cling to dignity
to make us all believe goodness still exists
to trust that despite their own suffering
there must be some joy left in the world