April 2017
While my three children were young, I wrote just enough poetry to give me an inkling that I might have an aptitude for it, but I wasn’t brave enough to throw my earning potential aside until my family was grown and I’d worked for a number of years. As time went on, I came to regret not having devoted myself to writing much earlier in life. The “now or never” decision came about 20 years ago—my late-in-life career—and the process of creating a poem still gives me enormous satisfaction. I’m gratified that my poetry is widely published in the small press and equally gratified by becoming part of a larger community of writers. For my publishing credits:
lindamfischer.com
lindamfischer.com
Plaint
The grip of freezing weather
loosens for a momentary hint
of spring, but not before the pipes
go or snow assails
the roof, spreading its telltale
stain yet again on plaster:
one disaster after another,
heaped like wrecks along a highway—
and those that merely threaten
as the hoary god I envision
winds up to topple
the dead pine just
there, leaving my house
a ruined choir and me
bewailing my fate like a stricken
bird, pouring out my song
of grievance to a deaf heaven.
--first published in my chapbook Raccoon Afternoons
© 2017 Linda M. Fischer
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