The sky’s eyelid unseals in the east,
unlacing tree lashes across the horizon.
A star slopes the dome of cornflower expanse
beside the sinking spirit of morning moon.
Blurry-eyed, she writes from the passenger side.
Their youngest points out, spaceship!
at a rusty silo ready to launch by the road
behind low wires strung on poles holding a field in.
They plan to settle roots outside town,
where live oak line longleaf pine and forest sky.
She awaits waking to rose light on their pillows
and journaling in the breeze of a new porch swing.
Though she dozes she is sowing her family of boys
to gather them in with him at the harvest—
teaching them to arise purposefully into their lives,
to rejoice in accomplishing their fullness of days.
By Catherine Zickgraf
Catherine Zickgraf has performed her poetry in Madrid, San Juan, and three dozen other cities, but now her main jobs are to hang out with her family and write more poetry. Her work has appeared in the Journal of the American Medical Association, Pank, Victorian Violet Press, and The Grief Diaries. Her new chapbook, Soul Full of Eye, is published through Aldrich Press and is available on Amazon.com.
Photo by Lindsay Helms