Ekphrasis: “Description” in Greek. An ekphrastic poem is a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the “action” of a painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify...
Little Brother In the late afternoon the blue room fills with languid light. Three little girls stand round while in Mother’s arms the new baby stills his little cries, that new strange squalling sound. Mother gazes down at her well-wrapped son He’s...
Room in Brooklyn High above the world, where the street sounds can’t hardly reach, her window with its lopsided shades looks over the rooftops where the clustered chimneys gaze back at the woman who sits so cozy in her wooden chair, now looking at...
Winter’s Night in the Mountains Just after sunset the sky is the perfect shade of heart-aching blue that you only see when the firmament yearns between daylight and dark. There isn’t a word for that color. And in the sky a silver star blazes...
Mother Thoughts She’s wrapped the quilt, red and white, about her shoulders and around the baby too. Snug in their nest, her mind’s adrift— forgotten her book, the painter, his brush. Forgotten the flowers and the little hands that collected them...
The Ball On summer afternoons the park shimmers where trees cast silent shadow symphonies across the grass and gravel. Her own shadow races ahead to grasp the ball before she can scoop it up, already sun-warm, in her hot hands. Her white pinafore...
Bonne Maman In the dim room she has a light to read by. One foot rocks the cradle as she turns the pages of her book. The lamp burns more brightly than you’d think and she’s covered the cot with a blanket to block the lamp’s light and...
A Late Riser’s Miserable Breakfast The girl in the striped dress and black ribbons sulks over her cold and solitary breakfast: unfair that everyone else got lovely hot eggs while she’s facing cold loaf and tepid tea in the detested checked mug...
Sailing Boats, Morning The ship’s shadow ripples like spilled ink on the water’s soft blue gauze as if a clumsy scribe upset his bottle, distracted by the way the settling sun has stained the tops of the great brown sails with hearth fire’s dying...
With the So-Called Sick In the green crib the child is not sleeping. Shadow covers the top of the sleepless face and in the shadow the eyes are open wide. Are they looking at Mother’s face as she reads or watching the red pompoms on the toes of her...
