By Goetschel Pond – a poem by Andrea E. Johnson

By Goetschel Pond
The sun, like a slender silver coin, 
     slips in and out of gray wool pockets. 

          A drenched black branch with peridot moss
               lies across a patch of coarsegrain snow

          next to tufts of orangespotted feathers.
     Silky gossamer seeds of milkweed

spill from follicles shaped like teardrops
     tethered to a single hollow stem. 

          A pale face glissandos out of clouds   
               and plates the tall prairie grass gold

          while the pond’s slush glows like bone china 
     placed on a doily for tea and scones.

I climb a hill through ancestral trees,
     oak, birch, cherries, basswood, and aspen.

          Dullish leaves shine like lamé mittens
               fastened to odd umbrella clotheslines.

          Halfway up, I pause for a moment, 
     embrace a hoary quercus alba,

and think back to autumn in moonlight,
     how a chorus of Canada geese 

          honked, winged, and descended in concert 
               to the silent, satin, inkblue pond.

Focusing now on poetry and textile art, Andrea E. Johnson is retired from a public health career in St. Paul/Minneapolis, Minnesota. Her work has appeared in BoomerLit and is forthcoming in an anthology to be published by St. Paul Almanac in 2021. She lives in Lake Elmo, Minnesota.

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