Old as the rainfall,
the deep green water rises and falls
like an ancient slow breath,
your throat and lungs
thick with water lettuce and reed.
Spent, darkened tree segments
decay into varying coves and shoals
harvested and devoured by microbes and
six legged removal engineers.
The grand Queen reaches across the land,
her corporeal ribbon
informed with arching loops,
that tell her age
like the roundness in an old woman’s back.
No more the reckless white water,
the gushing adolescent madness,
hurtling down ragged beds,
and with the stones that bring
fragments,and broken hearts.
Your peace has come.
A green maturity.
Your history layered in
And in the open countryside,
far from city cement,
the birds above you
see your islets and gentle sandbars
stretch like skin folds and moles
along your long torso, neck and arms.
And at the sea,
you empty the dreams from your head
like vapor into air
Heidi lives in Los Angeles with her husband of many years, and their two fourteen year old children. She’s written five screenplays and wrote and directed three short films, having been an actor for ten years. She’s also marketing a middle grade (tween) manuscript and is working on a memoir about her disability, a movement disorder. Her poetry has been published in: Big River Review; Unaureon; Cat Fancy Magazine; Emerge Literary Journal; St. James Newsletter; and the ‘Poised In Flight’ themed anthology from Kind of a Hurricane Press. She also writes a bi-weekly column for Examiner.com which can be found at: www.examiner.com/user-hbmorrell.