Sunday, 24 November 2019


by Joanna M. Weston

she lives on the edge of a frozen river
listens for the crack of ice breaking
waits for the loon to call

she hears behind the quiet
the whisper of a long-gone voice
that threaded the tundra with music
until white merged with white
and harmony lisped into fog

coyotes sing through memory
but a howling rings in her ears
and her nightmare wanderings
she cannot recapture the words
that once held her body

she leans over fractured ice
to watch the face that peers at her
from below the darkening surface

* * * * *

Joanna M. Weston. Canada. Has one cat, multiple spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, Frame and The McGuire, published by Tradewind Books 2015; and poetry, A Bedroom of Searchlights, published by Inanna Publications, 2016. Other books listed at her blog:

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