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Image by Aayush Gop Rawat

Waking, without knowing

where I am, I seek summer’s
open window to see what exists
in the dark that pools before me

I trace the outline of sumac, rising
up against the barn, gleaming
in moonlight

as if it were memory— this hour
seemingly divine in its solitude
becomes a gateway

I can slip through, without
notice, which makes me

for those humid nights
where I could come and go
as I pleased

God’s Eye View

Hamlin, NY, 2022

Under thick pewter clouds, the field
of freshly cut straw gleams gold
in morning’s stillness.

No whispers, whines, or suck
of engines’ indigestion—
only the cry of a red-tail hawk

circling over this field’s thick
stubble, searching for the mouse
displaced on this occasion.

Which one of us will be the victim?
I want to close my eyes to this
scene’s intention.

I know what happens next.

Waiting for Nothing

In the stillness of summer heat, a bird’s
plaintive whistle sounds like a slow strand
of wind rustling beneath the garden’s ivy.

I glance, catching a glimpse of what is there—
a luminous carapace leaving its silver
signature, leaf to leaf, returning to its place

before it’s swept away by sudden rain . . .
Who am I to say that it’s over?

M.J. Iuppa’s forthcoming fifth full length poetry collection The Weight of Air from Kelsay Books and a chapbook of 24 100-word stories, Rock. Paper. Scissors. from Foothills Publishing, in 2022.  For the past 33 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.  

1 Comment

  1. Anonymous

    Thank you , MJ.

    I love your questions.
    I love your answers.
    I love the idyllic in your verse.



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