I look at you
and at once
all the gaps
and restless
spaces in me
settle into this
landscape,
I drift home
wrapped
in a blanket
of magnolias.
I am spinning in the
space where words
won’t grow, laying
sheets of ice around
me. Despite the
magnificent all of
it, there are still
seasons when I slip
far from myself,
untrusting of my
own bones.
I am waiting
to travel
to the field where
my truth grows and
feel the warm
noise of its breath.
Some nights when
the wind winds itself
around the branches
with such absolute
certainty, I plug
my ears with doubt
and silence all
the dogwoods.
Today I will admit
that all I can
do for this self
this day is unmuffle
the spring that rises
then hides in me,
to hold this heart of
winter until the cold
breaks.
Claudine Nash is a psychologist, award-winning poet, and author of The Wild Essential (Kelsay Books, 2017), Parts per Trillion (Aldrich Press, 2016), and The Problem with Loving Ghosts (Finishing Line Press, 2014). Widely published, her work has received numerous honors including nominations for the Pulitzer, Pushcart, and Best of the Net.