The rain quickly comes
I get absorbed by a fallen kernel
And cry from the sword grass
I belong to someone
Who didn’t watch the rain
Ate breakfast
Went to work
Was number 3 or 4 in line
For the bathroom
Didn’t sneak a cigarette
Toilet water locates skin
But where is the rest
I want to lie down
Whoever you are
You may touch me
Winter
A quiet hour before dusk
When the sun beds early in winter
Slanted crows skew the roof
Share a part of my scattered perspective
Does sea meet sky or is it the opposite
Which depends on where you are
Birds seem to disappear in that space
The orange has been eaten
Off the roofs, sweet smell wood
Burning in my fireplace
I will crack two eggs
And must be satisfied
About the author:
Joan Rene Goldberg has been published online and in print . Her recent work can be read in May/June Oak Bend Review and Tipton Poetry Journal. While she is not employed as a teacher she writes and plays racquetball zealously.
