Reflective
If glass had not held light when I was lost
In longing for a lovely summer fled
To autumn’s rust and wrack, to brittle frost
Enshrouding favor’s flowers, faded, dead
Except in dreams that haunted listless rote
With shades of gaunt regret that flaunt the past
As perfect, grief would then have had my throat
In collar kept, its captive to the last.
But glass transformed by light reflects the gaze,
And by that light I found within my face
The favor due myself and all my days.
Epiphanized, my life has mirrored grace
As given in that glance, and liberty
Fluoresces in this lucent destiny.
Watching Her Perform Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E Minor
Her slender arm, elastic specter,
fills the air with burning orchids.
Golden tones pour from her hands,
the left fingers spidering, sliding
chinward, then kneeward
while the right hand purses the bow
to pendulate a stroked purr.
She lifts her face rightward
and raises her gaze
as if to watch the echoes ascend.
Cello vised by her thighs
and pressed to her breast,
she sways with the phrases,
a young tree tossed by the wind.
Linda Scheller is the author of two books of poetry: Fierce Light, published by FutureCycle Press in 2017, and Wind & Children, published by Main Street Rag in 2022. She serves as Vice President of Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center and volunteers as a programmer for KCBP Community Radio. Her website is lindascheller.com.
If glass had not held light when I was lost
In longing for a lovely summer fled
To autumn’s rust and wrack, to brittle frost
Enshrouding favor’s flowers, faded, dead
Except in dreams that haunted listless rote
With shades of gaunt regret that flaunt the past
As perfect, grief would then have had my throat
In collar kept, its captive to the last.
But glass transformed by light reflects the gaze,
And by that light I found within my face
The favor due myself and all my days.
Epiphanized, my life has mirrored grace
As given in that glance, and liberty
Fluoresces in this lucent destiny.
Watching Her Perform Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E Minor
Her slender arm, elastic specter,
fills the air with burning orchids.
Golden tones pour from her hands,
the left fingers spidering, sliding
chinward, then kneeward
while the right hand purses the bow
to pendulate a stroked purr.
She lifts her face rightward
and raises her gaze
as if to watch the echoes ascend.
Cello vised by her thighs
and pressed to her breast,
she sways with the phrases,
a young tree tossed by the wind.
Linda Scheller is the author of two books of poetry: Fierce Light, published by FutureCycle Press in 2017, and Wind & Children, published by Main Street Rag in 2022. She serves as Vice President of Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center and volunteers as a programmer for KCBP Community Radio. Her website is lindascheller.com.
