MUSED Literary Magazine.
Poetry

Acts of Light

LindaAnn LoSchiavo

She’s old, my neighbor, planting daffodils
And other bulbs, these plump brown hopes asleep
For now, when she addresses me, that voice
Deep, curved like a construction hook, as if
She’s building with that voice things both of us
Will need. A kaffir lily, bare root still,
Is offered for inspection, years away
From blooming orange trumpets, syllables
Blown bright. There’s so little light left now.


Inside I watch her bordering the beds,
Determined, making order to impose
Her colors — — to oppose a nothingness.