Vicissitudes The large motherly hand of the hemlock ushers the breeze as a guest onto the porch. I ignore the tree’s allusion to death and Socrates. Instead, I am drawn to the spread of its wide branches. The leaves look and feel like infants’ fingers, the green that of newborn spring. But at night the tree slips into a robe black as obsidian that blocks my view of star-strung Orion. I move away beyond the hemlock to find my place to watch Orion begin his journey across the sky. He has all the room in space. He does not know his fate. We both are content to wait.
Janet Krauss, who has two books of poetry published, Borrowed Scenery, Yuganta Press, and Through the Trees of Autumn, Spartina Press, has recently retired from teaching English at Fairfield University. Her mission is to help and guide Bridgeport’s young children through her teaching creative writing, leading book clubs and reading to and engaging a kindergarten class. As a poet, she co-directs the poetry program of the Black Rock Art Guild.
Amethyst Review 