by Jenny Ward Angyal
Gibsonville, North Carolina, USA
a boulder lies
where the glacier left it—
clear as crystal
the old crone’s memory
of fire and of ice
granite
under a thin pelt
of grass . . .
climbing the hill
her bones grow weary
paper birches
bending to sweep
the earth
she brushes a leaf
from her hem
a cedar
at the top of the knoll
riven long ago
by lightning . . .
the rain in her hair
empathy
carved deep in the bark
of a sapling . . .
gnarled fingers trace
the lines of her scars
~red lights 18:2, June 2022