Terry Cox-Joseph

DNR
 
Guilt. That medieval pot
of oil carried
on shoulders should be free of
constraint, free to assist arms
that wave and hug. Trough
of waste, tether to misery.
What evolution fashioned
with thread, culpability locked,
bolted, sealed.
Useless unless acted upon,
shroud to conceal
every wisp of laughter.
How to release it,
how to unshoulder
its weight? Ask the songbird,
the cabbage moth, the dragonfly.
Observe their foraging, purposeful.
Contact fleeting and sure. Departure
swift. Listen to their buzzes
and chirps,
sounds that dance through
poplar limbs,
travel with electricity of joy.
Practice in the morning,
when blades of grass
festooned with dew reflect sunlight.
Practice at noon, when heat intensifies
the buzzing of cicadas. Practice in the
afternoon, when shadows slide like
ink across your toes. Practice
inhaling until your lungs fill with
hope, no room for anything but life.
Practice.
And practice.
And let go.
 


All that Counts
 
Leaves snowing--
swaths
of yellow sails.
 
How beautiful
to fall apart
 
to lose pieces
 
to die.
 
The wind
has loosed
petioles
from their
 
branches,
sent them flying
like kites.
 
My hair a-swirl,
child again.
 
The moment
is all that matters.
 
The moment you
look into my eyes.
 
The moment
the sun fragments
through branches,
 
reminds us to
fly
among loosed leaves,
 
that life is
to be lived
in all seasons.

 

Terry Cox-Joseph divides her time between writing and painting. She is past president of the Poetry Society of Virginia and a former newspaper reporter. Terry’s children, pets and home on the Deep Creek waterfront provide a constant resource for her creativity.