~ Delta Poetry Review ~

Diane Elayne Dees

Shrove Tuesday, Northshore

It’s Mardi Gras, and the streets are empty.

In late afternoon, the moon rolls slowly

in the sky, floating under rippled clouds—

emerging as a silver sphere, a dove-gray globe,

then a ghostly, glowing white ball.

This rhythmic rotation continues

as the only Carnival show in town,

but it is enough. Walking among the pines,

I see no brightly festooned floats,

no fake gold and silver coins

or plastic beads flying through the air.

The display in the sky is more subtle,

but it stops me in my tracks.

Meanwhile, there is a parade of personal failures,

global crises, and the ghosts of all those

lives lost to a pandemic allowed to roll

through cities and towns on the wheels

of ignorance, denial and delusion.

I continue to walk, wondering if,

behind the rolling moon,

there is any hope for absolution.

The Office Pond

So close to my door, yet so far

from the small room filled with tears,

mourning, regret, confusion, anxiety—

the pond is almost another world.

I listen to sad stories, stories that break

my heart, and that cause my own sad stories

to bubble to the top of my consciousness,

breaking me at a deeper level. And so I visit

the pond, where there is always

a peaceful gathering of creatures—

a fine display of feathers, shells and fur.

The ducks skim across the surface

while the turtles rush over to me,

craning their necks as if performing

some reptilian social grace.

The geese march around me and honk,

the mother nutria parades her children

out of the nest; their giant feet paddle

them toward a floating feather.

A lone egret stands at the shallow end,

its reflection, at times,

a perfect upside-down mirror, and then—

with one quick move—a pillow of feathers

that spirals to white smoke.

The egret strolls elegantly to the water’s edge,

lifts one spindly leg, and bows its head.

My time at the pond has ended.

I return to my office to listen

to more stories of grief, sorrow, anger, and fear.

I want to be completely present,

to glide lightly along the turbulent waters

of emotion. I want to offer a clear reflection,

and—when I do speak—

I want to make a ripple that forms circles

of calm, circles that can carry the feather

of hope. Peace, presence and grace

abide at the pond, symbol of life without striving,

source of my continuing education.