And
I have shaved all my words down to truth,
a wide circle in early light.
Guilt comes away easily,
leaving a smooth silence.
This time of day sifts.
Cool or dark…
I feel the movement,
a laugh.
a rise
With persistence,
I dip in and begin this poem.
Missing
See me?
I turn, watching the place where you were.
I, the old one, the other end of the day turned.
There may be nothing or perhaps it is an elusive sum
that together we were…a bell without echo.
There is a sound in your dream,
though my footsteps are quiet.
Life in dreams is hard to hold.
Will you report me missing?
And,…to whom?
The Tarnished After
The proverb:
the reverse side also has a reverse side.
And both have a middle.
It is always the day before
splitting “was and after,”
the last day of peace;
that childhood belief in safety.
It’s hard to remember yesterday,
stepping over the middle.
That image blurs to nothing,
until later someone says,
“Remember?”
And, with all your strength you try,
try to catch the real before, only to find
the tarnished after.
Tranquility
for what morning brings,
I am grateful.
through minutes of harmony…
as rare beads slide
this patch carved out of a day.
rich, slow, in words or silence
waves of peace adjusting my focus
mutable—changeable
Judy DeCroce, a former teacher, is a poet and flash fiction writer.
She has been published in Pilcrow & Dagger, Amethyst Review, The Sunlight Press, Cherry House Press- Dreamscape:An Anthology, and many others.
She is a professional storyteller and teacher of that genre. Judy lives and works in upstate New York with her husband writer/artist Antoni Ooto
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