The sun spins silk over
gold threaded hills that ebb
and roll and spill back onto themselves
while the morning mist lifts
like a loomed lace mantilla revealing
slivers of ecru, lavender, moss ~
that cast shadows of what
seem like a million horizons.
Cypress meander like drunken crusaders,
grapevines stand steadfast, shackled
in rows. Olive trees bend gnarled in low
genuflection, like women in church
who’ll both gossip and praise.
And on the ledge of a hillside basilica
the birds line up like notes on a staff
and open their throats to trill
morning lauds ~ as the sound
of a clock tower thrums overhead
and trumpets me into a glorious dawn.
The Roseate Scarf
It’s the one you bought
from the milliner just west
of the train station even though
it was August. We had paused
at the storefront to remove sand
from my shoes, a vanilla Coke
and a knish still in hand from the guy
who sold lunch out of a shopping
bag to the strollers and fishermen
on Sheepshead Bay. You threaded
the wool under my hair, wrapped it once
around my nape, drew me in like a cigarette
and exhaled my name upon the wind.
I came across the scarf again a week
or so before you left. It had weathered
sixty summers and countless stares
from others who thought it odd attire
for the time of year. And on your final
day at home I wheeled you down
the length of our sidewalk, seared
my name into your mind burnt black,
and wrapped you lovingly into its soft,
Waltz With the Tempest
Some slammed their shutters
to keep out her fury, I all
but sent an invitation.
I welcomed her rigid ribs
pressed hard against mine,
the steady hum of roots
rocking beneath my feet.
Watched as leaves fell up
like kites toward heavy-lidded clouds
lined with soot, plump with rain.
I nodded to the knowing of
a rage that could shake the last
gasp of autumn between its teeth,
whip limbs like wet hair
across barked shoulders.
She bellowed like a baritone
down the necks of oaks,
their fingers twined and trussed
to frame the ghost-eyed moon.
Brie has been published previously in Freshwater as both a poetry contest winner and general poet and is currently struggling to complete a collection of poems worthy of publishing as a chapbook.