Peak & Prairie
October / November 1999
Peak & Prairie Poetry Page
Submissions to Vincent Pitturo : email@example.com
This place should look familiar,
I have walked this path before.
The Pasque flowers should be behind
That patch of tall grass, next to that
Fallen tree, just left of the mossy rock.
The Indian Paint Brush should
Grow in the glade there, between
The quaking, now yellowing Aspens.
Where are the tender wild Strawberrys?
They should bloom there, in that low place.
The Blue bells and daisies are missing.
Miniature acorns litter the hillside,
Under the scrub oak, turning brick.
Tuft-eared squirrels scamper ahead.
Rose hips bend branches beside the trail.
The sun is low in the sky today.
Shadows mottle the hillsides.
It should be bright and hot at three o’clock.
A chill breeze sends a flurry of leaves
Across the trail, a hundred yards ahead of us.
My feet know the turnings.
The up hills and down hills assure me,
As do piles of boulders still shaped like turtles.
Three majestic sisters tower to the right.
The mountains don’t change, the seasons do.
By: Maggie Zubrin
So Falling at 2 AM in the City
on the inside window ledge
a haggard man enveloped himself
arms to legs . . . head to knees
not the first shower
nor the last of the darkened months
inches on the Douglas Firs, Spruces, Pines, and
other now white humps outside the window
no mountain within grasp or sight from window ledge
nothing but white night horizon
the city stopped
all slept under warm comforters
abundance in the white
abundance in the solitude
abundance in the breath
up and down . . . quiet
in unison, all breathed
only snow valleys and white trees in sight
that gentle night
sometimes I wonder why they build cities
Tulane University Hullabaloo
October 1999 Online Newsletter - Peak & Prairie Home Page - Rocky Mountain Chapter Home Page