The Goddess of Missed Chances of missed lives. The goddess of the missing lives. The footprinted path of where we are and haven't been. Ground worn down to imprinted mud, pressed fronds of new growth, snapped branches of the old. The missing leaves that will never bloom the other twigs that bloom instead. Its desolate goodness its generous cruelty. Breaking off from it paths and not— no-trails through the glossy salal that end and emerge from a cedar’s foot, the footpaths where instead of drenched feet jumping streams, are steadfast logs. The words you say and will not say--yes and never, no and I will, maybe this is who I forever am, am I ever-- bridge the gap. Build a new story across that space. The heavy tread of your boots, your feet skipping bare across the boards. The stream that barely trickles roars underfoot. Between boards and water, yes and never air sparkles with spray, fattens with light.
Neile Graham is Canadian by birth and inclination but currently lives in Seattle, Washington. Her publications include: four full-length collections, most recently The Walk She Takes (2019) and a spoken word CD, She Says: Poems Selected & New. She has also published poems in various physical and online magazines, including Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, Mad Swirl, and Polar Starlight.
Amethyst Review 