Sunday, 30 June 2019


by Mary Wescott Riser

Often, but not always,
I watch the clouds outside
My window.
Sometimes, but not always,
I don’t notice them.

Murky at dawn, the sky
Does not clear so much
As resolve into dollops
Of cloud, processing across
The royal dome of the
Earth’s ceiling.

Another day, a spill of gold
Beneath the palest silk,
A nebula, disintegrates below
The endless blue.

One morning, grey tufts
Drift along, bumping on the buttercream.

Keels heavy with rain rush over.
A ragged edge of continent
Slides past.

Broad skim of spider web or
Trailing corner cobweb
Dangles, fragile.

Daubs of flamingo pink
Heat the Eastern sky.

A quilt of bossy chevrons roughly stitched,
A riverbed of cobbles flows unstopped
Through hairy moss,
A shred of pebbled skin,
So much is made of water, light, and mind.

* * * * *

Mary Wescott Riser worked in Virginia independent schools for 30 years, most recently as Head of School at James River Day School, a K-8 day co-ed day school in Lynchburg, Virginia, where she served as Head for ten years. Mary received her B.A. in English and Philosophy from Georgetown University and her M.F.A. in Poetry from the University of Oregon.  She writes the education blog “What’s Best For the Children?” Mary and her husband, George, live in Covesville, Virginia and have two adult children.

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