If I Could
…I want a poem
I can grow old in…
that I can die in.—Eavan Boland
If I could construct
myself it would be
as a woman with a valise
wearing a dark dress,
hair pulled back in a twist,
pearls dangling from lobes.
She would stare through
an open door
at a waiting taxi,
its impatient driver
checking his watch.
She would slip past it all
lured by the beckoning finger
of dusk into the night,
muscling into her thoughts
of what comes next
beyond the door--
a river, a lake, a sea,
hill, ravine, desert, plain?
If I could construct
myself I would seek
some course to follow,
even if ever so rugged,
to make a mark
upon this world
I call mine
in a language
I create
that one day
may not matter.
…I want a poem
I can grow old in…
that I can die in.—Eavan Boland
If I could construct
myself it would be
as a woman with a valise
wearing a dark dress,
hair pulled back in a twist,
pearls dangling from lobes.
She would stare through
an open door
at a waiting taxi,
its impatient driver
checking his watch.
She would slip past it all
lured by the beckoning finger
of dusk into the night,
muscling into her thoughts
of what comes next
beyond the door--
a river, a lake, a sea,
hill, ravine, desert, plain?
If I could construct
myself I would seek
some course to follow,
even if ever so rugged,
to make a mark
upon this world
I call mine
in a language
I create
that one day
may not matter.
As It Is
Stillness. One of the doors
into the temple.—Mary Oliver
Yellow globes light up black windows
beneath the slant of silent rooftops,
scent of lemon blossoms crossing transoms.
A slip of moon makes its journey east to west
past clouds bowing back in the velvet glow
of stars doing their dance of flicker and shine.
Black-crowned herons hone in on a clutch
harboring its nest of new mallard eggs
beneath the innocent sway of palms.
Crows quiet inside the incoming dark,
gulls halt hungry wails, hummingbirds
abandon sweet feeders and trumpet vines.
+
Neighborhood dogs put their barks to rest
curled at the feet of the ones they trust.
Drones retreat from peekaboo flights.
The wind heaves and carries the siren’s song,
shrill above children’s sleepy eyes and toys,
in another moment of fright of the unknown.
Morning becomes a distant prayer
as the things of day rest beneath blankets
of grief and worry then find peace
as a clearing of light breaks through
a cloud of fog crawling the ground,
day again as it was, as it will be.
Andrena Zawinski’s poems have received accolades for free verse, lyricism, spirituality, social concern and have appeared in Windward Review, Rattle, Santa Fe Review, Evening Street Review, 3rd Wednesdays, and others with work online at Women’s Voices for Change, Verse Daily, Rutgers Women Rejoinder, and elsewhere. Her fourth full-length collection of poetry is Born Under the Influence.
Stillness. One of the doors
into the temple.—Mary Oliver
Yellow globes light up black windows
beneath the slant of silent rooftops,
scent of lemon blossoms crossing transoms.
A slip of moon makes its journey east to west
past clouds bowing back in the velvet glow
of stars doing their dance of flicker and shine.
Black-crowned herons hone in on a clutch
harboring its nest of new mallard eggs
beneath the innocent sway of palms.
Crows quiet inside the incoming dark,
gulls halt hungry wails, hummingbirds
abandon sweet feeders and trumpet vines.
+
Neighborhood dogs put their barks to rest
curled at the feet of the ones they trust.
Drones retreat from peekaboo flights.
The wind heaves and carries the siren’s song,
shrill above children’s sleepy eyes and toys,
in another moment of fright of the unknown.
Morning becomes a distant prayer
as the things of day rest beneath blankets
of grief and worry then find peace
as a clearing of light breaks through
a cloud of fog crawling the ground,
day again as it was, as it will be.
Andrena Zawinski’s poems have received accolades for free verse, lyricism, spirituality, social concern and have appeared in Windward Review, Rattle, Santa Fe Review, Evening Street Review, 3rd Wednesdays, and others with work online at Women’s Voices for Change, Verse Daily, Rutgers Women Rejoinder, and elsewhere. Her fourth full-length collection of poetry is Born Under the Influence.
