on the morning
of the falling pink moon

she walked to the end of a drive half frozen
and stood beneath the tallest tree

a single crow announced her presence
in a tone of calm resentment

and the smile on her face grew wider
than the patchwork quilt of magic

wrapped around
one fragile


in the pine
the mockingbird whistled

cat-call face-small arbitration
filling the air between them

earth moved by tender greeting
recognition repetition new rendition

as the wind attempted to whisper-woo
a smear of color from the bone

of each white cheek




Join us over at dVerse Poets where we are honoring the passing of Harper Lee
with a prompt to write a narrative poem.


19 Responses to “on the morning
of the falling pink moon”

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