I enjoy when a poem leaves a deep burning or swell in my gut. My friend, professor, and poet Linda Russo’s latest work does just this for me. Here is one of my favorites from her latest chapbook, Roots and Scatters.
*

woodpecker on the same telephone pole, same rhythm, at the same time again today

disappointment when “thunder” is the rolling of a garbage bin

she said: I think you also care because you have walked in her paths

*

Linda always reminds me of the fabulousness of nouns: how one, whispered syllable can poke at, twist and touch different parts of me. The curl of an ‘o’, the squeeze of a ‘c’ the flick of a ‘t’…yum.
I’ve started a small series of poems I’m currently calling Shy Markings. Here are a few in the works.
II.
She spun a web
and paused
to rip it down
while she slept
the web grew
twice
as strong.
VIII.
She climbed to the top branch
and told the bird a secret.
Then the egg hatched.
IX.
I had to
turn
my map
inside out
to find any sense.
X.
She noticed the star
had shifted
to the left.
So she stepped left
too.
Then everything was better.
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