Adrienne Stevenson

Solivagant
 
kick up fallen leaves
disturb the forest floor
steps mark out a trail
more used to foxes,
squirrels, deer, ants
all remote cousins
 
observe changing light
filtered through leaves
branches bend, shift
sun and shadow
demarcate the path
where steps alight
 
enjoy solitude
walk little or long
alert to minutiae
tiny bugs, nodding ferns
shelf-like fungi
none of which respond
 
to probing thoughts
but issue scents, colours
details that impact
memory, retained to form
finest lines under the pen
tiny, perfect verses



Stored Linen
 
your shrunken hand
cramped by warping tendons
caresses an embroidered blue napkin
carefully ironed and folded away
in bed with others of its kind
 
each item must be handled
individually, selected with precision
each decision is unique
though from the outside
each one looks the same
 
you are reluctant to leave behind
minute associations, fading memories
of other hands, times, places
usefulness forgotten, jettisoned
along with the aged linens
 
life is cruel – nobody wants
these leftovers of lives well-lived
they have moved on to other things
amass their own memories
their turn to be forgotten yet to come
 
 
 
Adrienne Stevenson lives in Ottawa, Canada. A retired forensic scientist, she writes poetry and prose. Her work has appeared in over fifty print and online journals and anthologies in Canada, USA, UK, Europe, India, Australia. When not writing, Adrienne tends a large garden, reads voraciously, and procrastinates playing several musical instruments.