sparrow calls as the sun comes up
a world that overflows
pain only God can remove.
But what force leads me toward contrition?
been crying all night long,
staining my cheek, making it itch with
My eyes are puffy, red.
process is logical enough
faith leads to hope, then hopefully
toward love. The sparrow,
now flies toward the brush, welcomes
warm light of the sun without
(anything) about me. Still, the salt of
brought me to this place,
today I am a winter tree,
with the germ of forgiveness.
Losse is a poet, freelance writer, and Poetry Editor of The
Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. Her recent poetry
publications include Mastodon Dentist, Southern Hum,
Adagio Verse Quarterly, The Centrifugal Eye, Ann
Arbor Review, and Blue Fifth Review. She has two chapbooks,
Gathering the Broken Pieces, available from FootHills Publishing,
and Paper Snowflakes, available from Southern Hum Press.