by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
By RJ Traub I am April, green and fair, lilacs tangled in my hair, oft-disheveled, awkward, wild, partly grown but mostly child, hope and comfort in my smile, winter-haunted all the while. Though my daffodils glint gold, I was born of mists and cold, struggling, when my wan sun sets,…
By RJ Traub We watched you dancing in the gales that ushered in the cold, frenetically, yet gracefully, you leaves of green and gold, the sunlight on you crimson leaves breathtaking to behold as jauntily you danced all day to celebrate the cold. Your young trees, barely trembling now, look…