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LATITUDES, 3rd EDITION

Poetry

Three Poems
By Sara-Lynne Simpson

Vertical Divider

​                             Braiding
​

Strands of thick elementary school yarn,
orange, green, and dull yellow,
knotted together at one end.
Nana Lynne helped me find

the outside-over-the-middle-one pattern.
“Give each color its little turn,”
her voice sang my 4-year-old fingers along.


Afterwards, we tucked it in the tiny
magical drawer of the entry hall table,
her floral perfume wafting in sweet
ribbons through her Tacoma home.


Christmastime, and she tied the sash
of my blue satin dress that night,
a wide level bow, perfect for her festivities.
I kissed my cousin Teeter, in the circle
of more than thirty relatives’ chairs.
Laughter rang from all the grown-ups.


Nana Lynne faded with the next spring flowers,
beloved lilacs, iris, pansies, and peonies,
passing away just days into summer
while I was still five—too young.


Her side table sits in my dining room now,
with its inlay, its stately mirror, and a tiny drawer
full of wild bird feathers and braided recollections.


​#####################################



            I tuck the red set sun
         into a Ziploc of dreams



we run,
launch neon bright kites on a beach,
chuffing the sand’s anthem,
lick salt cones of wind and spray,
spin the seagull jukebox,
zig-zag through disputations of teen girls
unhooked
on loud towels.


Our strings cross,
kites throttle like Harleys and donut down,
buzz the slicing surfers,
plunge into indigo swells,
we jitterbug across seafoam,
shorten tangled tethers and reel them into shore.
Tropical fins leap the waves—trail giddy flashing tails.
Our lungs squeeze laughs from one accordion
and the monkey dances.


We strap a jangled basket with bungee cords,
pedal our tandem bike into flight through electric blue.


#######################################

                              Sisters 


A full breasted crow 
unapologetically bends the tip-
topple of a tall cedar tree, squawking.
 
It occurs to me, 
as a full breasted crone, 
we have some traits in common--
 
loyal tidbits and dark wings 
held close, remembered faces, 
some canny revenge.
 
I glide on up the road, unrepentant,
twisting expectations and caw-caw!
But no stones in this craw.



​
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  • NewHome
  • Donate
  • Support Groups
  • Guild News
    • Member News ONE
    • Member News TWO
    • Grantwriting
    • Member News THREE
    • Member News FOUR
    • Member News FIVE
  • Our Authors
  • Member Guide
  • Guild Business
  • Our Work
  • Events Calendar
    • New Event Suggestion
  • Membership
    • Pay Annual Dues
    • Membership-Student
    • Pay Annual Student Dues
  • Gallery
  • Writing Resources
    • Connections
    • How To …
    • Local Help
  • Contact
  • Literary Review
    • LitReview First Edition
    • LitReview Second Edition
    • LitReview Fourth Edition
    • LitReview Third Edition
    • LitReview Fifth Edition
  • Austin FF