She was the middle one,
blonde and young,
like a birch in white,
all lacey and cool
above the other two.
Time gone by was a
moment never captured.
Waiting was a glacier,
but time was for wishing
and time was boundless
as sunflowers around her
and music in the breeze.
Would he match her flame
that burned like midnight sun?
Or would he twist a tale
with a smile warm as
a patchwork quilt?
Her summer romance
turned winter white,
spouted into spring
when raindrops fed its seeds.
Then he walked through
the distant heavy mist.
She felt the quake within.
Her time was now.
Her glacier melted
with a kiss in the rain.
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
