• Libbie


I watched

the feather of a flicker turning in my hand,

the orange needle of its shaft,

a buff softness along one edge

rolled between my fingers.

I watched myself

tuck the feather between the pages

of a book you bought for me

though it wasn’t a book I’d planned to read.

I put it in my suitcase.

The turkey vultures tottered in the air,

and circled in hot silence,

and the watching eye hung somewhere

just above:

Myself at the cliff’s edge,

whine of a harp string,

and you below,

flat in the sun—

a cat, a basking animal.

You lay with wood below your back

and waves below the wood.

Ten years on, I sold the book

and forgot the feather inside,

but at dusk there is a green light on the water

and a fat moon rising from the center of the island

and I still smell the summer, still hear the waves.

Libbie Grant

date unknown

1 view0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Ragnarok 2.0

In days of old, like days of now, the lords of land and sky and hearth broke the plowman to the plow and shook the bones inside the earth. The people bowed and wept and moaned— they had no strength; o


What is constant now: memory, the world as I knew it like a shade in some forgotten corner. The noise of the bar when I stood behind your chair and looked down. There was one gray hair you never knew

While We Were Still

While we were still the yellow haze lifted; the mountains rose and came to stand close as if to watch us. On the path I walk every day, the ferns have grown to six feet high and blackbirds chide me fr