Sunday, 4 October 2020


by Alethea Eason

January 10, 2020
I have no poetry tonight,
Only a memory of the day
When seven ravens on a snowy lawn
Took flight, one by one, and rose
To a weakened sun.
I need to write of mystery
To birth a wider margin inside my soul,
That might translate the nonsense of this world,
And bring back a time that never was.
I am sure the earth will still breathe
Under a diamond sheet of wordless stars,
As a shadow moves across the moon,
In the empty bowl of this winter night,
While planets unravel a messy birth.
I have no poetry tonight,
To welcome a new age, or none,
To feel safe in my own skin.
A crying child with roses cut,
I want to summon a second sight
For cadences are out of step,
And listen to ravens greet the dawn,
When icy fingers lace the earth.
To trust something good ahead.

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Alethea Eason is an award-winning writer and artist who has found happiness and her true home in the intersection of desert and mountains in southern New Mexico.