Poems & Essays

13 Aug

Small Daughter

General/Column One Response

Scrawny bodies
Of young birds stretch
In the budded maple above
Your blond head

I think how the mother’s beak
Could pierce the open throats

You are four
You have apples for the new
Pony where he stamps
And snorts by the fence, restless

Tulips open to sun
Hungry and lustful as crows
Blue ajuga multiplies daily
In a slant of light and shadow under pines

I am no more than a door you have opened
My presence a net you will slip through

The pony rocks his head
Fruit shines red in your hands
In the slight burn of early sun
You are both luminous


Elizabeth Jane Whittington has published poetry and fiction in journals such as Adirondack Review, Crack the Spine Literary Magazine, Black Fox Literary Magazine, Kaliope: A Journal of Women’s Art, Margie: The American Journal of Poetry, Lungfish Review, and English Journal. She lives in New Hampshire and has two grown children 

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1 Comment

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  1. Lisa Lopez Snyder

    August 15, 2018 at 7:03 pm

    Jane – What beautiful images, delicate and luminous words. I find myself re-reading this over and over… 🙂


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