by L. Lois
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the chill in the air means the glacier ravines running down the peaks jutting above the treeline to the north are vertical cuts of white this bench sits low comfortably leaning back with the lake at my feet the surface broken by the gentle rippling of the wind a lone eagle circles on early spring's thermal winds and the cherry blossoms I passed on my way are holding fast in the lingering crispness distant blue skies are lighter overhead coloring is calm painted solid for peacefulness rounded white clouds perch as if to tell the mountains where they should be ducks scatter when the Canadian geese come in for a noisy landing two herons fly by to the west and their rookery's young New York and Washington on fire Trump's on criminal trial Netanyahu plays chess with Hamas and Iran Putin threatens Ukraine’s future while Congress dithers on the eve of chaos everything here ignores our foolishness
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L. Lois lives in an urban hermitage where trauma-informed themes flow during walks by the ocean. She is pivoting through her grandmother-era, figuring out why her bevy of adult children don’t have babies, nor time. Her poems have appeared in Progenitor Journal, In Parentheses, Woodland Pattern, and Twisted Vine.
Spot on… love how the poet creates a peaceful moment then shocks with reality at the end.