A feather when viewed separately may seem like only a feather, but
when seen through the eyes of truth it is a sacred instrument that lifts
birds in flight. ~Molly Friedenfeld
Spring
swing gently back, sway
briskly forward into gravity’s free fall
bend elbows v’d, thrust
my legs out, feel myself arcing
the curve; pull
my arms — long and taut — hold tight,
secure inside this sturdy, pedestaled embrace
breaking free, toes pointing
up
toward the sky
where I swing in parallel
accord
feeling the glee of a tickle,
the wisp of the air filling
my nostrils,
the thrill of life
beckoning me to hold
firmly to my chains,
to steady
harpsichord’s notes
in time with violin’s strokes
Martha Wales Skelton Jefferson
Four Seasons (continued)
II. Summer
travel new pathways — winding,
chirping, trickling toward
forest blue where
still end meets cheer hollowing
in the distant wind
tata tata tata ta
dada dada dada da
my aerie sweeps, climbs
upward. What height
dare I push before plummeting down,
down — stumbling feebly
upon abandoned quay,
giggling, stomping my feet firmly
on good ground,
I upend her harpsichord,
his violin,’twining
‘tween Iliad’s lines
III. Autumn
Children bound gracefully
about their winding trails, through Monticello’s grove,
as though Martha’s wits and reason
have
a
tale
Once upon a knoll,
we swung alongside vines,
tethers of sweet berries
linked one
by one
by one
then we ate the berries
singing a made-up tune
dubbed ‘Once Upon a Swing’
solitude’s bells, chime rhythmically —
ting a ling, a ling
ting a ling, a ling
Her strings unwind; gentle,
sweet, undone
diminuendo; I linger in the silence
of her harpsichord
IV. Winter
gifting staggering sway to quill a peaceful
world where God’s heart
occupies Thomas' hearth
placing sturdy combinations
of lavender and lilies next
Martha’s grave —
sensing breathless aroma
skidding down Independence Grove —
shady umbrellas open, keeping
life subdued
offshoots pellet fertile ground
taking root
pound for pound
Thomas reaches back, holds
his stroke, pressing
the fingers of my harpsichord
__________________________________________________________________________
Ann Wachter is an ever-maturing writer of poetry who completed her Bachelor of Arts with John Carroll University, University Heights, Ohio, 1982. She hones her craft by attending writing workshops including Iowa Summer Writing Workshops, UW-Madison Writer’s Institute and University of Chicago Writer’s Studio as she plans her MFA journey. Her publications include Catharsis, copyright 2011; 9-11 Dream from a Steel Beam, circa 2015, Highland Park Poetry Muses Gallery; The Guest, June 2018, The Copperfield Review.
