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Tzeidel E. The Pondthe leaves perched shakily about to fall from branches eerie quiet by the shore everyone up on the hill too far away to hear their voices I know are speaking cries from a loon water agitated by a fish’s tail cold here for July the breeze chills the skin falling sky is gray foreboding calm before a storm drops like pebbles on the water clinking like spare change in the pocket of the earth blankets of rain on the pond a voice calling from the house a young girl’s splashing of trodden puddles on the hill house’s warm light like a flame smell of bread and the deep color of blueberries picked by her today the feeling of dry clothes against cool skin then the hard wooden chair |
[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2012 EDITION]
Copyright © 2002-2010 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose © 2002-2010 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission.