GLINTING SILVER

In the dimly lit bathroom mirror

a crone peers at her,

someone she barely

recognizes; will not look at straight

on for fear of knowing ...

silver hair glints in the moonlight.

S.E.Ingraham©

Day 4

FROM MY WINDOW

From my window I see afternoon fleeing the sky, 

painting light grey a darker slate; 

I witness the streetlights flicker on as if by magic.

Accidental Beauty

On a vehicle being towed to the wrecker’s:

Remnants of a corsage dangled; pale petals

Pasted to the ruin of a door

And in the car’s curiously unmarred grill

A tiny brown broken wren

All That Remains

An urn, classic I suppose; half jet, half brass

and swirled in the manner of the yin-yang sign, 

containing your ashes, anchors the display, 

dead centre (you’ll excuse the expression). 

Your stethoscope is draped to one corner; near it, 

Transition: A Mental Autobiography by Will Durant 

sits on a plate stand – presumably a book that meant a lot to you. 

On the other side, near the familiar photo 

of your wife and you – the one you kept 

in your office and that was used at your memorial, 

also on a plate stand, there’s a small ceramic turtle. 

Did you like turtles? I didn’t know that – 

something else I didn’t know …

From My Nest

Birch logs, their white bark curling to black,

burn well in the fireplace and throw heat enough

to fill this cavernous room. 

Heat that soon has me yawning 

from my nest on the couch, 

my notebook slipping off my afghan-covered lap, 

my eyelids grow weighted with warmth and drowsiness … 

I know not how much time passes 

but there are rosy embers only aglow 

in the grate when I awake. 

I am at once refreshed, at peace 

and ready to try writing again.

Hare, Hare

One of our ubiquitous rabbits – 

I know they’re hares because they're huge

but I prefer to think they’re just rabbits – 

keeps reappearing on the front lawn.

He’s a “tweener” trapped in that nether world

of not knowing whether to stay his lovely 

milk chocolate summer colour or let his fur 

go completely snow-white 

so he’ll be camouflaged

and safe from his winter predators.

It happens every year but it still catches me 

by surprise (him too most likely) to see him 

with his white head and tail

and brown body and paws, 

or vice versa.

I imagine his eyes look confused,

as he sits there, whiskers twitching, 

beneath our sentinel straight firs.

Wolf Watching

Out back, our wolf/border-collie/cross is bristling;

his soot coloured hackles raised 

stiff as a chimney brush,

lupine ears perked tall. 

He thrusts his elegant snout vertically

as if to howl, remains silent, nostrils quivering. 

To Catch Aurora Out

Stepping outside on the deck,

I breathe in early winter night air, 

Catch ice crystals on my tongue, 

Imagine I see Aurora flitting 

Around the horizon, 

Her filmy veils shimmering 

Phosphorescent and gone.

Near the Mailbox

Night-time near the mailbox, a street-lamp
pours a puddle of light onto the side-walk;
a square of grimy paper floats near the edge.
Dead letter?