Another Chance
Catkins from
my red oak break loose,
race for the ground,
twist into tousled heaps
like wiggles of young boys.
Across the yard
a cherry tree sheds frills
of pink petals -- laughing
little girls pulling off tutus
after ballet. I try
to catch them all,
as though I could capture
another chance at spring.
WHAT REMAINS
Trapped in the pond's ice --
a motionless mound of fur,
too far from the edge to reach,
to obscured to identify,
elusive as the reasons
my husband
took his life.
The ice is too fragile
to support my weight.
I must wait for the thaw,
for the day weeks later
when a desiccated raccoon
re-surfaces in the reeds.
I fish its soft body from the water,
realize I will never
have an answer.
Wing Shot
a hummingbird tries in vain
to get nectar from my feeder
checks out the metal flowers
the sides of the red bowl
never finds the feeding port
flies away hungry
like when life is wing-shot
plummets
in a hail of feathers
what feeds us
cut off, no nourishment left
in the world
Patricia L. Goodman is a widowed mother and grandmother and a graduate of Wells college. She spent her career raising, training and showing horses with her orthodontist husband, on their farm in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania. She now lives on the banks of the Red Clay Creek in Delaware, where she enjoys hiking, photography and spending time with her family. Her poetry has been published in both print and online journals, and in anthologies and she is putting the finishing touches on her first full-length manuscript. Much of her inspiration comes from the natural world she loves.
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