Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Poetry by Heidi Stahl

On the Cliff Between Far and Near East Beaches
Indralaya, Orcas Island

Where does this wind come from?

Who else has it touched?

Did it caress the bell
in the white steeple?

This wind--
kissing my face at 2:30 this afternoon--
who did it kiss at 9:15 this morning?

My downward thoughts,
carried away
Do they break up--
like sea foam?

Do they reincarnate
ten years from now
as white fawn lilies
on some unseen hillside?

Who is writing this poem?

The wind?

The eagle whose shadow
just passed over my face?

Sometimes Gifts Come Later

The worn wood
of the store's front porch

The chipped, glossy red paint
of the iron wheel
on the old coffee mill

December afternoon light
fading lavender

The wool jackets
work gloves
puffs of steam
of the neighbors
assembling the luminaria
along the road

The trail of lights
rising and falling
receding into the dusk

These gifts come back
having silently roosted for years
summoned, perhaps,
by a sadness
barely perceptible

bringing their balm
their solace
of merely being

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