1 Are You Listening?
Constance Hodder
Two Tin Cans
Two tin cans hold taut
the cord between us,
a tight rope for
children’s secrets to cross.
Old telephone booth
beside a grave yard,
conduit to the dead for
the living’s confessions.
Put your ear to the can,
a coin in the payphone,
for I too have secrets
to whisper, to confess.
Are you listening?
I will tell my tales through
the air on a heart string,
send them sailing on the wind,
to fall like leaves at your feet.
A Blue Jay: Self Portrait part one
A blue jay sings atop
the branch of a paper birch
before a luminous azure sky.
How often I have gazed through
this temple window.
A blue jay soars above
the expansive indigo Lake
sky mirrored on calm waters.
How often I have prayed at
this living altar.
A blue jay flies up
the cliff on Blueberry Hill
so high heaven can be seen.
How often I have reached to
touch the face of God.
Long Dry Grasses Sing: Self Portrait part two
Long dry grasses sing,
blown one way, then the other.
Divide for a tawny cat
stalking through the cover.
Pads across dampened sand,
leaps atop a rock.
Surveys white capped lake,
gulls bobbing in a flock.
Wind dies with setting sun,
water reflects the glow.
Cat wanders back through
grasses now woven gold.
Tall Sunflowers: Self Portrait part three
Tall sunflowers,
garden giants,
golden petals grace
black gleaming faces,
sun followers.
At summer’s end
heads hang heavy,
mature with seed,
bend to survey
garden’s harvest.
Stems bow in prayer
goldfinch whispers,
“tomorrow comes”
plucks a seed,
then flies away.
Snow soon covers
fallen remnants,
memory of sun
secured in seed,
waiting in soil.
Tucked In a Drawer: Self Portrait part four
Tucked in a drawer,
too old to be of use,
lies a pile of hankies,
laced with memories.
Each one unfolded,
its wrinkled face smoothed,
telling tales of tears,
farewells and broken hearts.
Delicate fabric,
whiteness yellowed grey,
colors faded, worn thin
that veil of passing.
This Gravel Road : Self Portrait part five
This gravel road is
long, hot, and dusty.
I keep walking on.
My feet are tired,
my shoes worn.
I have walked this road
a lifetime. They say
all roads come to an end.
Down the way there is
a bend in sight.
Along this timeworn road,
I gather flowers,
their beauty wilting
in my hands being
dropped, one by one.
I look behind. They say
never look back but
now there’s a path of
flowers to follow
when my soul returns.
The Child Laughs Aloud
The child laughs aloud,
not bubbling up
or holding back, but
erupting like Vesuvius.
There was a time,
when I too could laugh
without restraint,
tears rolling down.
This was before
I grew up, standing tall,
assured in the fact,
I knew something.
Uncertainty and fear,
now bend my spine.
Searching for answers,
my eyes grow blind.
Look up, my head says.
What should I see?
Pray, my heart says.
What do I ask for?
I hear the child,
laughter peeling like a bell,
resounding inside me,
an answer, a prayer.
The Down Arrow Glows Red
The down arrow glows red.
As the door slides op