A Poem by J.lynn Sheridan

Giver

The green plucked pumpkin
         steams in my pot
not for the cobbler but for the
                        cobblestones
painted with rust and toiled
                                            doilies.

I’ve seen the apple-skin-                                                                           

                                    thin widow

lay her wishing head upon
              washed rags and

fossilled leaves

with fresh blessings
          for her losses—

the etchings in her sandalled cheek

where cobblers and merchants tread
with heavy steps

unknowingly tapping stones
into old world
                 works of art

                  

fringed with prairie grass.

 

 

 

J.lynn Sheridan poems and writes in the Chain O’Lakes area of northern Illinois where she lives with her scruffy construction-guy husband and children, but she’d rather live in an old hardware store for the aroma and ambiance. Her poems can most recently be found in Beyond the Dark Room (an international poetry anthology), a Poetic Bloomings’ anthology , MouseTail Press and her blog, https://writingonthesun.wordpress.com and @J.lynnSheridan.