If I Were a Child and Waiting

If I were a child, I would climb the venerable

Pecan tree, in my backyard. It holds my world 

in place, like the mythic Yggdrasil, whose roots 

hold the world together ~ never to loosen.

Along a sturdy branch, I’d chat with the 

squirrels, and share a nut or two from my

pocket, and wonder at their scampering leaps 

into the space between twig ends of limbs. 

Pausing here, I fall into my adult self.

Grounded, like a plane without fuel, altitude

lost, I recall losses irreparable. Settling

against the massive trunk, filled with the

rings of Time, I recalled that at the heart of 

me is a fragile sprout of beginning.

The rough bark, wrinkled Time, reminds

me that I may grow again from here,

surrounded by accumulated years of 

experience. I can learn the scampering 

risk of leaping from stem end to stem end,

across the space of fear. 

—Martha Ward

Shoot After the Storm by Amanda Webb

Past pleading for warmth 

against the pain of cold, 

the wintery wait, the weight 

of the cold, persisted.

Slipping my arms along my 

sides, I was surprised to feel 

warmth radiating from my core. 

Numbed hands felt their way under 

my buttocks, seeking the supple fat 

for their warm nest, cheek to cheek. 

Head helmeted, in woolen hat, 

only my feet numb, absorbing 

the arctic air stealing in through 

the walls, floor, windows. Rubbing 

them together, only let me know 

their ache. Moving from my shroud 

of blankets, to find warmth for them 

would mean, inviting the cold to wash over me. 

I waited, I waited, then snow gave way

to the sun’s light. And, with it the return

of electricity. Feet arched eagerly, feeling

blood rush, trumpeting.

—Martha Ward