Ann Arbor Review: International Journal of Poetry

Issue Number 6
Spring 2008

Ann Arbor Review


Miami Dade County, Florida                                                                                                 Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Chris Lord
Joseph McNair
Duane Locke
Lazlo Slomovits
Alan Britt
Shutta Crum
Tolu Ogunlesi
Jerry Blanton
Paul B. Roth
Fred Wolven
Felino Soriano
Sharon E. Boyd
Joanie Freeman
Jumoke Verissimo
Running Cub
Jeanpaul Ferro
S. P. Flannery
Kristina Marie Darling
Gary Beck
Dike Okoro
Karyn M. Wolven



Ann Arbor Review
is an International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2008 Fred Wolven
All rights revert back to each poet.

------------------------------------------------

Fred Wolven, Editor


Homestead, Florida

 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net
 

 

MEGAN'S LIGHT
                                                                                  
What is it like, little newborn,
to behold this world for the first time,
able to use only 12 inches in front of you,
your mother and father staring in awe,
the intruding flash of a camera,
that first fist of light.

I too am momentarily blinded
but my tears are of joy
as I cradle your infant body
on this warm day in Georgia,
the sun brilliant, the air burning,
the hills gentle, flowering, green

* * *

I remember stars climbing the hill
at my grandparents' farm,
discovering the Milky Way,
letting go of firm hands,
running down the grazed bluff,
following the light in the creek

and I remember city lights
climbing in my bedroom window,
the thrill of leaning over the edge,
believing nothing bad could
happen to me, discovering
too soon it would and had

I want for you the vision to see
beyond green hills, the strength
to run with your own beliefs,
my hand to hold as you cross
dark city streets, the wisdom
not to drink the muddy creek

As you grow, make within yourself
a place you can always call home,
where doors are screened but open,
the yard a forest never mowed,
where when bad things happen
you let go of the monsters

under the bed, and let in friends,
where you learn to love yourself,
where birds of all descriptions
come from far and near to bathe
in the pool of light that surrounds you,

for it surrounds you, even now


Chris Lord, Ann Arbor
 
   

 

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