I can hear her. On the nights The wind screams through the trees And the waves crash In rhythmic chaos On the shore. When night is darkest And bejeweled skies Tell no secrets.
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All articles filed in Grace Brindle
Color
February hits in muted grey Paired with sunless mornings. We beg for reds and pinks In heart-shaped clouds And warm winter drinks.
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In the Mirror
More grey splashes against dark curls. Cheeks sag and skin spots darken. Aging creeps in with Crow’s feet around my eyes.
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Tight Rope
Belonging In the balance. When you stand On a tight rope, You belong nowhere. Not the right. Not to the left. Certainly not the middle. To be accepted. To be loved.
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Broken Royalty
Dear Queen, I see you in your garden there In your yard, in the back. Tucked. and hidden. Where the chickens roam free And the dirt brings you close To the grief in your eyes. Broken and bruised. Battered and beat.
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Wild and Free
Wild woman dances in the trees, Her feet caked with mud. Hair in knots, She twirls and yells The songs of her ancient soul.
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