Posts Tagged ‘April again’


She keeps it in a wooden box

between soft layers of cotton —

the arrowhead

he found in the desert.

It still bears his fingerprints —

invisible, like the many poems

she composes in her head

but never writes,


poems she sends

across the valley

hoping they’ll lodge

in his dreams

some heavy night.


She imagines them

circling his body

like halos of concentric light,

or perhaps brushing his face

with kisses

silky as a feather.


But then, like the arrowhead

she draws them home again

tucking them safely away —

sonnets nestled in her soul

between reluctant layers

of silence.



© 2014, 2020 Betty Hayes Albright


(A re-post from 2014)


I hope everyone is staying well out there. Will try to catch up with you all soon. ❤


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She treads deep water

where they never said goodbye –

it’s been just so long.


(c) 2015 Betty Hayes Albright


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