Blue Woman



In a gown of blue flowers

you seem startled,

newly awakened from deep snow drifts.

When spring comes it is easy to weep.

Within that general thawing,

suddenly harsh women hug you,

let you in on secrets.



If you plant something,

replace it often,

even if you must let the roof leak.

In the maple tree

the woodpecker has made perfect round holes.

Sparrows live there,

accepting the gift.



Someone embroidered those flowers.

Fingered thread slowly,

dreaming

of speech.

The language tangled,

but kept the hue.



There is always a second life

we don’t choose,

though we seek each other

to see if our eyes hold.



The sound of wind too varies.

Finger the gown as it frays.



Skaidrite Stelzer lives in Toledo, Ohio and teaches writing courses at The University of Toledo. Having been born as a post-WWII refugee, for many years she was a woman without a country. Her poems have appeared recently in Karamu, Eclipse and Fourth River.