POETRY
On being the first woman in this world
“On being the first woman in this world” read by Ellen Jane Powers.
The soles of my feet are dull gray,
years of dirt I couldn’t avoid, and
they no longer come clean. I taught
myself to step aside, to not answer questions
from silver-eyed strangers who test me —
are you lost? No. I turn toward unexpected
paths. I look for a river bed, the one that’s lined
with late spring lilacs, nectar as sweet
as what I tasted long ago. I want to forget
the dried mud of love, the exposed roots
of torn desire which blackened my feet.
I keep rubbing those spots. I want the soles
of my innocence — pink, untethered, scented
with rosewater and lily-of-the-valley —
I want this faint recollection of a garden,
its gate aflame, so I might step in once more.
Tree Song
“Tree Song” read by Ellen Jane Powers.
The birch is singing,
its catkins tuned to the east wind.
From my seaside porch
I regard the composition
as the wind plucks the maple
and changes key.
Fog drifts in, curtaining
the islands, changing the tempo —
I hear a church bell ring
its hymn of the hour,
its amen dampens my lips
as the tree song becalms
and sinks into the sea.
Ellen Jane Powers lives on the North Shore of Boston. Her life and career have taken many twists and turns, but she’s not strayed from pursuing Spirit. She spent 12 years on the editorial review board of a small literary journal from Maine. Her poems have appeared in a variety of journals and in two collections of poetry, Celestial Navigation (Cherry Grove) and Toward the Beloved (Finishing Line).
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Image is in the Public Domain. Modified by Veronica McDonald.
Heart of Flesh Literary Journal 