Bio Note: These are a couple of quiet poems, perhaps fit for extended periods of sheltering in place or walking, masked, around our neighborhoods, and they take the long view. My poems have appeared this spring in Juniper, Offcourse, and One Sentence Poems.
Forbearant clouds— frothy with ruffles endlessly adjusted, airy shoulders turning and turning away so slowly, no pose resisted. Or burgeoning into clear air, or deep-veiled and misted, or dispersed— without protest. Or, in the late afternoon, floating like deserted cities, on a translucent, cyan lake, swallowing darkness before the sky does high above us— who stride the shining earth for this brief startling moment.
Originally published in Sheila-Na-Gig (Winter, 2018).
like the quiet pool where I swam, alone, in a hotel at dusk in a Northern country, a somber pool in a barely-lit room, low windows looking out on the ink sea almost filling them, a sea of banked black fire, like the inside of my eyes, dull sheen flushed here and there with the ghost purpling of an unseen sun— or my own long looking… as if—even when immersed in the soul’s darkest hours—giving one’s self to darkness faintly lightens it.
Originally published in Soundings Review (Fall/Winter 2013).
©2020 Judy Kronenfeld
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