Letters to Minnehaha Creek: VIII by Victoria Peterson-Hilleque

Leave a comment

November 29, 2013 by northerncardinalreview

The sky sweeps its damp
hands over my hair.

I cannot wait to see what
the rain gives you. The cedar

fence, perfume for the worms.
The cars make music

with the puddles. I am alive.
I can do anything. Winter berries

wet, emit greenish-white light
as though they glow in the dark.

I love these gray days when
the Christmas lights can be seen.

These streets are mine.
My cells renew themselves

with every step. I pass
out confidence like Tic Tacs.

Pass though the arches of Phelps
Park marked with children’s art,

frogs, dice, and a message
to Big T. Granny.

I pass through to another
self. There is enough room for

all of us in this wet air.

~~~~~

You are not fat. Wasn’t the rain your
Thanksgiving feast? The hungry

sun covered in clouds cannot
feed its insatiable need.

My back rests against the metal
of the bridge. A squirrel

watches me out of one eye.
The cardinal watches me

out of another. Every time
I look they are somewhere new.

I never realized how differently
I would see with an eye

on each side of my head.

Victoria Peterson-Hilleque’s poems appeared or are forthcoming in Paper Nautilus, The Montucky Review, Poppy Road Review, and other journals. She’s the Poet-In-Residence at Solomon’s Porch Church in Minneapolis, Minnesota where she also teaches a poetry workshop.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: