Glass Poetry Press

Volume Three Issue Two

Grace Marie Grafton


Go with stars, with moon opposite the day of my birth. Daughter of strawberry cheeks, silver coins in her hair. So foolishly I hoped, but that's instinct, none of us, surely, escapes it. Long ago, the second day of spring. Lemons in bloom, they scent the foolish air. I've walked under a waterfall, that space between rushing drops and rock, there's no way to stay dry. But there's the thrill of echo and heart-pump, of being in storm's core and still safe. Years back, fire ravaged hills near here and burned luxury homes. It leaped from one pine-top to the next, a killing beauty.