Bio Note: I am a longtime editor, slowly publishing poet, and author of six picture books, including From Apple Trees to Cider, Please! and The Boy Who Said Nonsense (Albert Whitman & Company). In 2018 I moved away from the masthead of an academic quarterly to work with people who want to share their stories, ideas, and poems in print. It’s been a joy—and quite an adventure.
By mid-August, when you’ve had enough humidity to sink, cicadas chorus out the hours in dull yet dogged drones: It’s time to turn the mind toward school, the daily slate— those things that bring you back, not-unhappy Sisyphus, beyond the pail of sand you’ve toted to and fro all season. Each surge of surf that sweeps your summer castles clean away builds such dreams on briny foam and tiny grains of quartz, feldspar, and mica. Shimmering, those tumbling waves! The dune-brown bluff September hours are made of sterner stuff.
O God of Nevertheless, it’s three nineteen. I lay here musing to the monkish drone of crickets coming through my August window while my husband’s conquering snore is leveling forests, and not unlike the gibbous moon, before the fullness of another day I rise to glow through gloom of shadow—all to seek the perfect space for slipping prayers into a poem.
©2020 Felicia Sanzari Chernesky
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell her or him. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL