The Telling
Once I made a necklace blush
when I was in my prime;
the necklace was my grandmother’s
until she made it mine.
On her final birthday she
took it from her neck;
placed her arms around me
lest I not forget.
She told me many stories,
one hundred years of skin;
the necklace worn upon her chest,
stories she had kept within.
Her own grandmother had worn
the necklace I wear now;
when I was young, she gave to me
the memories she kept somehow.
Once I made a necklace blush,
to youth I was akin;
soon the stories I will tell,
one hundred years of skin.
Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
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Cutting [Tanka]
Silent heat, heavy
stagnantly weighted stillness
cut by blades of air,
pensive propellers whirring,
a most pleasant blur of breeze.
Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
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Summer Singing [Triolet]
“One of these mornings/You're going to rise up singing/Then you'll spread your wings”
[George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess]
The day I awake to singing
I know I’ll be spreading my wings
Praise to the sun I’ll be bringing
The day I awake to singing
Echoes of harmony clinging
The fragrance of violin strings
The day I awake to singing
I know I’ll be spreading my wings
Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
