Shrove Winter
The sun turns her face away,
lets fingers of glacier
strum through fraught air,
ply frigid strokes on earth's moist bare,
where the snow spills in sugar piles
claiming each blade of grass.
Nude knees of tree roots
witness hares' soft prints cross
miserly crusts, strident in lost fields --
layered inside, pristine above,
comforted below.
Mother and Child
Small crayon-laden hands
reach up to the midnight hour
as the worn edges of a smile turn --
bright eyes hopeful, dewed
with laughter, child's gasps
when a single mother
drags in a Christmas tree,
tints her voice in candy-cane
to bring the magic
of a season, never
but ever under their roof
and into her son's heart.
Bio: Theresa A. Cancro (Wilmington, Delaware) writes poetry and short fiction. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming on many online sites and in print publications, including Kind of a Hurricane Press anthologies, Jellyfish Whispers, The Artistic Muse, The Rainbow Journal, Kumquat Poetry, A Handful of Stones, A Hundred Gourds, Brass Bell, Cattails, Presence, Chrysanthemum and The Ice Box, among others.
I was reading out these poems to my wife this morning. We enjoyed negotiating the meanings thoroughly.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Arun, for reading and for your kind comments. I'm so pleased that you and your wife enjoyed my poetry.
ReplyDeleteTheresa