the healing muse

Volume 13, 2013

Two poems by Zara Raab


The summer you went wild,
you hid at the crick by the house,
a grieving child,
while Father searched the marsh.

Blackberries stained our fingers;
their tartness in our sweet mouths
stung and lingered,
clotting our mother’s death.

Red juices matting our curls,
under the summer stars we sighed
like water purling
the rushes along the byways.

Winter now, the crick like glass.
What has become of us?
I ask and ask.
Just now, nothing soothes my loss.


You hear, outside, one bird,
a robin redbreast.
Not content in that shade,
he perches on my chest.

You enjoy this birdsong
after your midday tea.
I hear it all night long
as he builds his nest in me.

Back to Volume 13, Table of Contents

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