Poems & Essays

27 Oct


General/Column No Response

She sleeps in the car seat
I skim the rearview, drink in light

Out there, roadside helianthus
tilt and track the sun

There’s a moment they drop their heads
in fall, pour stars over soil

I slowly shed the earth before her face
Each day I drop a handful out the window

In spring, first flames shoot up
Again, a sizzle of green

So thin and small, without an inch of fear
stems climb the sky

Meanwhile space
swallows a hole where a star stopped

Meanwhile I lose myself in the glare
in the brilliant glare


Melissa Reeser Poulin’s poetry appears in Water~Stone Review, Catamaran Literary Reader, Taos Journal of International Poetry & Art, Ruminate, and basalt. She holds an MFA from Seattle Pacific University. She co-edited Winged: New Writing on Bees, an anthology on the relationship between humans and honeybees, a limited-edition book of poetry, fiction, and non-fiction from 36 new and established writers. Proceeds benefitted pollinator conservation and education efforts.

Check out her poetry column “In the Margins” released today.

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In the Margins October 27, 2016 An Occasional Poet November 3, 2016