BROWSE Columns
✕
Forest Under Snow, by Ivan Shishkin.
but here in snow
a deer with agate eyes
holds
still as long
as I
still
count pulse
of my peridot
irises
the hill frost
smells of paper
lamps of milkweed
under white sun
where
I invoke
cold
come
with ice press
shrivel the bark beetle
with spindrift keep
this forest
・
what is a single olive?
on a sheet beneath its tree’s limbs?
fruit and oil made by daylight and night?
what is a single olive?
・
fallen unconsoled
・
I will sleep in a bowl
to become wheat
clean and round
to feed the mourners
Raised in Minneapolis, the 4th generation on Positively 4th St., Deborah lived many years in Chicago, and is home in Colorado. Her poems are found, five with award recognition, in several journals based in the US, Canada, and Europe. She has led and written widely on behalf of non-profit organizations at work in the US and Mexico. She serves as Secretary of a distinctive, 26-year-old independent literary press. More publication history may be found at https://www.deborahkaykelly.com
