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Tracing
the big dipper.
The
sun fell like a sickle
And
sliced your flesh
With
a laser’s precision, and you lay
Like
a dead sparrow
Twisted
in sheets
Your
beauty settling in to the
Face
of an old man.
And
the sun:
Slithers,
wavers and flickers
Illuminating
Freckles and moles that are like
Constellations.
Teresa Nyenhuis is 26 years old, lives in Ontario and writes poetry mainly as diary entries.
Sometimes she believes that she has something to say, and perhaps she says in eloqently,
and at other times she says she might as well be mute.
Comments from people who will not see her chin quiver are welcome.
Email: Teresa Nyenhuis
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