Longing for the Equinox
Winter stretches across the days.
Bare branches tangle the sky.
A spider’s web coaxes me from the porch.
White netting spread across evergreen and holly,
last night’s sleet between the strands.
Sunrise reds the horizon
bleeding into day.
I watch a beetle’s quest to break free
losing the battle as six legs scramble across,
wrapping her prey for supper later.
The sparrow sings of warmer days
when Bradford pear trees bloom,
petals snowing the landscape pink
as goldfish and koi wiggle free
from a thawing pond.
I long to smell honeysuckle
in the meadow beyond the wood,
to hear doves coo and cuddle on powerlines
swaying in the waning moonlight.
Yearning
Veiled in fog, the sun dims,
muffled behind dark clouds
rising from the west, turning off daylight
before the moon is ready to rise.
Silence scatters between howls.
Wolfdogs hanging their song in the mist.
Weaving loneliness in the chain-link fence
separating them from the wild.
She sips Moscato on the patio,
listens to their soulful cry,
wondering how much life
she has missed waiting
for him to love her.
Chris Wood resides in Tennessee with her husband and several fur babies. She works as a lease maintenance manager for a real estate management company, and is a member of the Chattanooga Writers' Guild, where she currently serves as their treasurer. Her work has appeared in several journals and publications, including Poetry Quarterly, Panoply, Haiku Journal, and Quill and Parchment.
Winter stretches across the days.
Bare branches tangle the sky.
A spider’s web coaxes me from the porch.
White netting spread across evergreen and holly,
last night’s sleet between the strands.
Sunrise reds the horizon
bleeding into day.
I watch a beetle’s quest to break free
losing the battle as six legs scramble across,
wrapping her prey for supper later.
The sparrow sings of warmer days
when Bradford pear trees bloom,
petals snowing the landscape pink
as goldfish and koi wiggle free
from a thawing pond.
I long to smell honeysuckle
in the meadow beyond the wood,
to hear doves coo and cuddle on powerlines
swaying in the waning moonlight.
Yearning
Veiled in fog, the sun dims,
muffled behind dark clouds
rising from the west, turning off daylight
before the moon is ready to rise.
Silence scatters between howls.
Wolfdogs hanging their song in the mist.
Weaving loneliness in the chain-link fence
separating them from the wild.
She sips Moscato on the patio,
listens to their soulful cry,
wondering how much life
she has missed waiting
for him to love her.
Chris Wood resides in Tennessee with her husband and several fur babies. She works as a lease maintenance manager for a real estate management company, and is a member of the Chattanooga Writers' Guild, where she currently serves as their treasurer. Her work has appeared in several journals and publications, including Poetry Quarterly, Panoply, Haiku Journal, and Quill and Parchment.
