Elan Mudrow
Smidgens
Category: Poetry
Here is where my deepest heart lies. These writings emanate from the many times when my passion hits the bottom and other times where it seems to fly on wings. To solace myself, I go to the woods on deep forest trails, pray to waterfalls, look over valleys, and dip my hands in the waters of springs, hoping to soothe myself. Forgive me if I get angry; for at times I’m just plain mad at the world.
Above Multnomah Falls
This warm winter makes the creek scream like spring. I dip my hand in, as far in as my long sleeves let me Smooth stones, slick, cold life, years in my hands. My fragile blood beats, knows the water by heart. It’s good…
The Ledge
Out on the ledge, the snow hushes the wild. This kind of quiet soothes while it scares Strange mixture of awareness. A lone northern harrier is the only singer. She strafes the powder with one beat of her wings Eyes on everything, including me….
Receiving a Fine In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these fare inspectors in the crowd; Donuts with icing, cream filled full.
The Ocean Welcomes Me Back
She knows me. Though, I haven’t seen All that she is….. All her anger and angst Frozen at times, treacherous. I know her From the safety of my footing. She can pull me, She pulls me, I am pulled Not by ebb, but by…
Emily Dickinson’s Refrigerator
‘Twas the vinegar that tippeth Toward the leftover quiche Oh, lonely empty bottle, recycler boon When sun meets to kiss moon— And mustard, your yellows bold A bit old, but still at play— Mummified lime, plastic lined Awaits blessed water of the fizzy kind—…
Her Voice
She had her voice and it was buried deep inside in a place so sacred, so lonely. Only occasional tears that sprung up within the course of a life could witness it in raw form. When she sang, she camouflaged it with a myriad…
Traveling Near the Dark
There’s a quietness about the river broken by a random leap, splash of steelheads. a prairie hawk loses a feather. The natives drink a loud liquor on their fishing platforms, dip nets looking for fish who choose to become parts of ceremonies. The…
Christmas Presence
Late, Christmas night, wandering past your home. I see your face in the window, warm, buried in your phone, your lamps glow There’s a fuzziness about your image The trees, their winter arms angling for musty sky, starless. The atmosphere’s full of their…
Mnemosyne
Her arm, a light porcelain, marbled with a series of veins and arteries. Sometimes she thinks she’s cold, a stone. She takes a sacred bath, a bit too warm for many, candles burning messages into her sweat, to see through the cold, if she…
Dab Of Warmth
There are mild spots between winter’s beating of grayness Where breaths, in ease, are breathed…gloves are placed in pockets or lost on streets of snow Mixed in that scattered brown batter of orphaned leaves. The sun appears as a stranger, speaking a forgotten tongue, yet familiar tone Trying to…
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