a journal of small poems #106 - wordpress.com never had said i love you. ... we struck a chord. i...

hedgerow a journal of small poems

#106

copyright © hedgerow, 2017. all rights revert to the respective author & artist upon publication. no work featured here may be used, copied, sold or distributed elsewhere without permission. all correspondence to the editor / publisher: hedgerowsubmission@gmail.com

mixed bag . . . all the crocuses come up white Julie Warther

stuck in traffic "We agreed to disagree." "No, we didn't." guys' night out from sex without love to texts without love frustrated colleague she says she's not less than more than once morning stretch the snap-crackle-pop of middle age Ian Willey

Debbie Strange

True Colors by Paul David Mena and Michael Dylan Welch autumn the bright red ink in my portfolio Paul just as I arrive the light turns green Michael the pink ribbon in my granddaughter’s hair stained with mustard Paul deepening the blue around Half Dome my polarizing filter Michael a gold necklace clings to the barbed-wire fence Paul family reunion— a buttercup held to my daughter’s chin Michael

summer light – in the shade of a pergola bread and oil Margherita Petriccione

Debbie Strange

Loving Caretakers "We took a long drive into the hills. I never had said I love you. She seemed distant and I was unsure. There were small stalls along a rustic road, vegetables and fruit. We struck a chord. I pulled over. They gave us little paper cups and poured them full of real apple cider, a heady brew. Our first drink, first kiss, that settled it." More than fifty years later he told me that story as he eyed his wife wishing they could travel. They lived their first year in an open-air teahouse on his parents' grounds, inherited a paradise, and out of the goodness of their hearts, made it a public garden. Open days and weddings, their own long postponed honeymoon. Instead they build a room for the bride to dress. garden tour even the buddha has some regrets Kath Abela Wilson

dusk falls into my headlights drifting snow empty nest the rooms all fill with time night sky above the memorial a dying star Dave Read

Debbie Strange

winter wind -- the raptor's wings waver Julie Bloss Kelsey

dawn in the city a homeless man sleeps by a flower bed Pat Davis

in the bitter cold of evening I make myself go out of doors - for can I spend the whole long day in this warm, safe house? there are no photos of the red-haired witch in my garden she fears her wild spirit may be pinned to the page Joy McCall

witching hour letting the ants eat his cold dinner Christina Sng

Debbie Strange

lunar eclipse she rolls away from me in her sleep lightning storm the time it takes to finish a mug of coffee third shift the yawn of my daughter’s “goodnight” Joshua Gage

nanna forgets my name — petals scatter in the breeze Louise Hopewell

Debbie Strange

snowed in we dig out the simple things first patch of light I cling on to the dream Rachel Sutcliffe

in the cold night air i meet a woman who makes shawls she drapes one over my shoulders and is gone ai li

Debbie Strange

publication credits: the poems included in the haiga featured in this issue by Debbie Strange have previously appeared in cattails and A Year Unfolding (Folded Word 2017).