Watermark

snapshot poem 13 january 2021

 

sleep in grief

wake in grief 

     grief at the doorstep

    

Snapshot Poem 16 December 2020

 

each day slips away 

fish in deep water

   

Snapshot Poem 12 November 2020

 

Tuesday we woke 

to high lines 

of snow along 

the birch limbs 

out our bedroom 

window. 

 

Two days later

snow has congealed 

to slush balls 

that fall 

to the ground 

with thuds. 

 

Frost shadows 

rest across grass 

and asphalt. Sky 

changes mood 

from fog 

to blue. 

 

They are counting 

votes again 

in Arizona. 

They will 

count again 

elsewhere. 

 

The country’s 

mood changes 

from slush 

to thud 

to fog 

to blue. 

    

Snapshot Poem 04 November 2020

 

This is a day I did not want. 

This is a day that does not keep its promise. 

Today is a day of disappointment  

 

and fear. There is blue in the sky, 

but it’s pale and diffuse. I watch 

 

my neighbors from the corners of my eyes. 

This is not a valley prone to earthquakes, 

but I feel unsteady anyway. 

 

Why do I live here? Do I know you? Snow 

is coming. I fear we will be buried. 

           

               ~sharon brogan 

Snapshot Poem

 

this morning 

 

there is still snow 

after a day of thaw 

and a night of freeze 

 

snow crusted with ice 

 

the dowitcher

with the broken wing 

 

in a cage 

in the basement 

 

still lives 

 

but the cat has not 

given up

   

COVID-19

                            COVID-19

This morning I went to the clinic for the laying-on of hands. 

Snow and brittle ice still rest in shadowed places. Squirrels 

argue or court in the spruce trees. We hold hands, my love 

and I, as we walk the river trail, wind groping our winter jackets. 

 

Another couple passes, faces masked with scarves. Our dog 

is happy, unconcerned, sniffing all the scents and contaminants 

in every bush and stone along our way. The sky stays flat and high, 

where it belongs. There are no humans playing in the park, 

 

no other dogs, this cold afternoon. The news, grim and gray

as the day, follows us outside, dogs our footsteps in an unfriendly

way. We, of the threatened demographic, walk carefully in our aged 

bodies, breathing this vulnerable air. 

sharon brogan

march 02020

Snapshot Poem for Tuesday 03 March 02020

 

  Super Tuesday

 

I stand before the judge

debt collector to my left 

what is owed must be paid

behind us, all the children 

(shades dark to light)

behind them, the parents 

then the wooden pallets 

then the metal fence 

 

tornadoes come 

the chain links vibrate 

with an electric hum 

the pallets fall to dust 

the winds lift buildings 

and automobiles, drop 

them to the ground 

like coins     dozens 

 

(humans) missing 

or dead (no one counts 

the others) hundreds 

more (black & brown) 

stand in lines for hours 

to cast their votes 

(do they count?) 

markets plummet 

 

officials reassure us 

only the already-ill,

old, disabled, will die 

& too few of them 

in the larger picture         

old, already-ill, I climb 

to my bed and dream 

I stand before the judge

sharon brogan 

march 02020

Snapshot Poem 12 July 02017

    

I sleep through the thunderstorm, the full

moon, the fireworks, the earthquake.

 

In the morning, I move through this dim house,

shutters closed against the heat, straightening

 

pictures and nudging things back to where

I decide they belong. Cats weave between

 

my feet. All is in disarray, surfaces cluttered

with paper and old mail. My hair falls in my eyes.

 

I cannot see. My heart, recently opened, whispers

and moans. It keeps happening, this sleeping, this

 

waking, these futile attempts to put things in order.

    

    

Falling in Love at 70 (snapshot poem)

  

What once would bend, now

refuses. Knees complain

of damp weather.

 

My fingers mark the crows’

feet at the corners

of your eyes.

 

It’s only endorphins,

synapses sparking

in the brain.

 

This heart, cracked by time

and grieving, has split

thin & dry as kindling.

 

That match

too close.

   

   

Snapshot Poem 17 June 02017

   

You leave and then

it rains and rains.

Flood warnings

for Ovando, Seeley

Garnet, Greenough,

Clearwater. The garden

  

glistens, glitter on lilac

leaves in shafts of sun.

I sit alone on the wooden

bench, hood up, smoking,

listening to rain, percussive

on the furnace pipe. This old

   

body hums. My knee aches

and I try to remember where

I put the cane. I remind myself:

weather changes. This land

will be dry again. There will

be drought.

  

Come back.