Lilies – a poem by Jennifer Novotney

The wind brushes through 
the leaves on the trees
manipulating them to wave
naked bodies dancing
against the grey canvas.
The rain tumbles down
getting lost in the rush of air
cold from the mountain
a sigh that never
runs out of breath.
The windows are pimpled
with uneven, translucent drops
nature’s avant-garde painting
as if a child has pushed away 
a splattered spoonful of medicine.
I see myself in those drops
the gentle curve of my lashes
marble eyes staring back
the long sweep of my nose
the dip where my lip meets chin.
I am so small in it
the drop that lingers on the glass
gently falling to the edge
like lilies wilted 
near the end of a funeral.

Jennifer Novotney holds an M.A. in English from Northern Arizona University. Her work is forthcoming in Buddhist Poetry Review and has appeared in English Journal, Poetry Quarterly, Unbroken Journal, and The Vignette Review, the latter for which she was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. In 2014, she won the Moonbeam Children’s Book Award for her debut novel, Winter in the Soul. She grew up in Los Angeles, CA and lives in North East Pennsylvania with her family where she teaches English and creative writing.

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