Returning on a Poetic Note!

Wow, what a month. The Editor was away teaching a writing course at UT Austin and now is back at the helm. It is our pleasure to introduce some poetry by Melissa Fry Beasley. Enjoy!

Old Iron Bridge

 

Remember that old arched iron bridge we used to walk across

 

Laughing and holding hands?

 

Remember our hiding place beneath the bridge

 

Where we would steal away to

 

When no one else was there or watching?

 

We sat on boulders beginning to crumble at the edges.

 

Why did you unbraid my hair before you kissed me?

 

 

 

In the shallow water near the shore

 

We gathered broken pieces of colored glass.

 

There was a fisherman’s path

 

Grown narrow and choked with weeds

 

We would walk it anyway and

 

Gather dun colored feathers along the way.

 

I still have some in a box in my closet.

 

That river flows through my dreams.

 

Does it ever wind through yours?

 

Why did you unbraid my hair before you kissed me?

 

  Pleasure In Silence

 

 We took pleasure in silence together

 

Listening to beating of hearts

 

And vibrations of universes

 

Smooth sweetness and symmetry

 

Of syllables left to wizen

 

Prayers wakened from dreams sleeping in their echo

 

Sound falling like a feather

 

Into the desert

 

Blown into air by charms

 

Words of stone

 

Falling into wells

 

Wishing we would always remain here

 

In this lovely silence together

 

  Real Or Behind My Eyes

 

You are still here

 

Real or behind my eyes

 

Always near

 

Even when the time has come

 

To let you go

 


Light burning

 

From stone gardens

 

Meant to guide you home

 

All things

 

Come into existence

 

Then cease

 

Attachment etched deeply

 

In ruins

 

That remain

 


A cold winter must pass

 

Before sun’s rays warm

 

These narrow straits

 

Between the living

 

And the dead

 

 

 You are still here

 

Real or behind my eyes

 

But always near

 

Sleepwalking lost

 

Through dark hallways

 

Wet streets

 

Empty rooms

 

Edge of daydreams

 

Night dreams

 

 

 The cold displaced

 

Quietly lead

 

Mourners no more

 

Candles flicker and lick

 

Showing you the way back home

 

That Night


That night

 

Together

 

In quietude

 

We saw the moon

 

Rise slowly above the lake

 

Paving stones on path

 

Worn smooth with secret walking

 

Waterlilies edging water

 

 

 Pale and Small

 

 She stood pale and small

 

Against the night sky

 

Silently watching behind the full skirts of her Grandmother.

 

She stood observing all the magic and metamorphosis she could dream of.

 

The drum is like a heartbeat,

 

Heartbeat of the people”

 

She hears Grandmother telling her.

 

She watches

 

As the men become eagles

 

Take flight.

 

She sees hunters stalking

 

She carefully looks on

 

As even the grasses merrily dance.

 

Her heart thumps excitedly as Grandmother grabs shawl,

 

Heads into the circle.

 

Slows and turns saying, “you coming?”

 

She danced small and pale against the night sky

 

Making big circles, hand in hand.

 

Feeling each beat of the drum

 

Resonating and vibrating deep,

 

Down into her tiny bones.

 

She wondered how long a beautiful moment might last.

 

She wanted to dance right into tomorrow.

 

Dance right into next week.

 

Right into forever.

Melissa Fry Beasley is a poet, advocate, and activist from Oklahoma. She is proud to have red dirt running through her veins. Working with literacy programs, and doing various volunteer work, she tries to keep busy and discover interesting content for her literary endeavors. Melissa has been published in several magazines and journals both in print and online. She is currently adding the finishing touches to her first chapbook.

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