"Just before the pregnant pause gives birth" by marlowe

the opinion

My Enso Muse went MIA around mid January. After several days, I searched the darkest, furthest corners of the kitchen pantry. I scoured closets. I peeked behind each dusty bookcase.

Nada.

I almost considered filing a Missing Person Report.

She left me a jar of cookies. Asked me not to despair.

In the meantime, I find myself wandering the house while cradling my pen and notepad. I continue to meditate dutifully. I fantasize that she will decide to return unannounced, like always, whether as a delicate surprise or …

I wait. I sit in my desert. There are no desserts here.

"Clouds" by marlowe

the poem

The clouds? They have
been everywhere. Listen
to those stories as they
interweave, bend,
and mix. They can
tell you where to go.
Hear them whisper
in wisps, follow
their rumblings before
lightning strikes.
No, this is not mere
fluff, some cushy
puff to soften
your day. This
is the chronicle
of your time, how
the hours churn
and evaporate, like rain,
into the sky, sliding
from one end to the next.
This is the miracle you
have been waiting for.

"Scorched" by marlowe

the poem

They say a scorched moth is later
quite shy but you continue still,
brave because you have no choice
but to rise from the coals,
not like a phoenix
but more like a spine
standing amid the blitz
as though these bombs
are the least of your worries. Your trunk
is charred, its past unrecognizable, brittle,
old rings forgotten by new growth.
Your green tips reveal hope, forever
reaching for the future, the sky, you will
not pause for survivor’s guilt
or speculation. Here comes
another storm.

"Golden Feather" by Jodi Roberts

the poem

a bright sail unfurled
lost dreams to exhume
a luminous pearl
to lift my fortune
you & I dance whirl
sing when opportune
no ordinary girl
comes here to commune