Not Lost or Looking // Heat Wave

Not Lost or Looking

BY DEIDRE BRALEY

How cliche
the term
‘looking for oneself’ as if I
walked off
the front step
one day
and got lost
in the woods.
I am not
a lost soul
waiting to
be found;
I am a flower
that’s
constantly blooming.

Heat Wave

BY MARJORIE ARNETT

The air is hot the last week of
summer. Moon-glow reflects
madness of late August. I walk
to the bay, feel an inviting breeze
coming off the water.

A man and women appear out
of the thick night heat, their canoe
slicing through darkness. Quiet in
their small craft as if a whistle of
breath might throw them off course.

They do not see me sitting on the edge
of the dock, feet dangling in cool water.
Lovers. Quiet gliders connecting stroke
after stroke, paddles sinking into water,
intimately synchronized.

I feel naked seeing love be so simple.
So unadorned. I am envious watching
them move out of sight, swallowed
by the moonlight of summer’s end.

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