Poetry Magazine Wendy A. Howe

Wendy A. Howe

USA

PRESENCE

A string of dust drops
from the corner of the ceiling
into the small room below ---
first still, then stirred softly
into motion
by a woman's breath.

Her respiration is warm
thickening with sorrow
while the white thread glistens.

Floss untwisted from the fine tatting
of a spider's craft,
it swings back and forth
widening the square pocket of air
with sorcery.

For a moment
golden spasms of light wrench
the window's peeling wood
and the cracked glass shines
like the wing of a wasp.

Maybe now,
she comes in the pith-deep softness
of dusk.
Nothing of her seen
but the long, loosened hair
of a woman staining the floor
with her listless steps
and the humid extract of her tears.

Maybe now she comes --
pale brass burnishing the night,
only to wonder if all the secrets
will remain shut-in;
patched in silence
Like the eyes of a newly-hatched bird.
(written May 1998)

SHADINGS
OF AN AFTERNOON

High up
under the narrow glance
of a slate roof,
she lies in bed
and dark wilds of gleaming hair
float
in the gulf of her back.

Outside, the carrot blossom
hurls its net
against the emerald-glass shattering
of salt marshes in the wind.

Gulls moan
their last grievances
before the storm.

Soon it will come;
the silver tempest
spreading, sweeping all of her back
to the first time -
of baring skin,
of lying birch-white
On a mattress of sand
tumbling spasms
of sweet, breathless heat
into the ocean's light.
(written June 1999)

OFTEN
( A morning in Kosovo)

"Often ", the word weighs softly
on the morning-smooth ripple of a woman’s voice.
Her eyes glide off its sound and blink
in moth-wing frenzy against the window’s glass.
Outside, fate links the adverbial distance
with the emergence of a bird.
"Often", so, "often", he appears
at this early rising, at this mist-spoken hour of dawn.
Alone he stands, metallic in black
and tilting his head
with the grace of warrior kings.
Behind, the wind peels back shadows
and scraps of their bluish rind
are left, lightly scratching the ribs of sunrise.
Soon , warm air seeps through the sky
and light perspires; bleaching golden
the gaze of woman and bird..
Together they wait,
looking for, hoping to feel
the immaculate sigh
of a new day breathing peace.
(Written August 1999)