From the window,
I watch two geese
in the yard—one flies north;
the other hesitates,
flies south. Love,
we haven’t loved
in so long—
the cherry petals
blush and fall
from their branches,
a few notes still cling
to the wind chime.
I bend to lift
a book from your face,
press a kiss
to your collarbone,
turn out the lamp,
the moon a lone drop
of pearl. Do you think
the geese might circle back?
I touch a faint path of stars
through the window. Today
I have no
new stories—
only the mirror’s
whisper of a crease
from my brow
to my hairline,
the parentheses
framing my lips
growing deeper.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 22, Issue 1.
Shannon Castleton’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in journals such as The Cortland Review, Folio, Literature and Belief, and Sycamore Review. She is a graduate of The MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College, and lives with her family in Pennsylvania.
See all items about Shannon Castleton
