Letters to Minnehaha Creek: VIII by Victoria Peterson-Hilleque

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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.

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