Bio Note: I am a writer and teacher born and raised in Alaska who wears too many hats, the heaviest of which are: President of Alaska Writers Guild and Editor in Chief of The Poets' Touchstone, a publication by the Poetry Society of New Hampshire (no, I've never been)! I am also the owner of Red Sweater Press, a small, independent publishing company. I have been a member of Verse-Virtual since I was published here in August 2020, and I'm happy to report that the second edition of my first full-length poetry collection, Stakes, will be published this fall.
Author's Note: This poem was written in response to a weekly Rattle prompt.
If This Were a Mary Oliver Poem
I’d go on about nature—human, animal, vegetable, mineral— the ways the birds & the grass inspire me to be irresponsible, to be Woman, brave & strong & sure of myself, even if not the future. But I am not Mary Oliver— I am alive & desperate & delicate, constantly praying for certainty. I have faith, & doubt. I have love. And, now & again, the pounding hooves of blue horses thundering in my ears.
Author's Note: This poem was written in response to a 3Elements Literary Review prompt.
I Never Liked Westerns Anyway
the path beneath the woman’s feet is green but he beckons to her from bedrock, mind miles away, night-dark eyes cloudy with will & weakness as their hearts wander the cosmos, evening blinds their eyes with pitch- perfect song, which is to say obscures the journey as much as the destination, a threnody in itself Love is no mother—Father thunders with some kind of envy. But the moon is only a forgotten guard against the black, a placebo for damp & rainy souls. She looks down, sees the grass turned to gray dirt; up & away, the rock reduced to rubble. Home calls her back alone.
©2022 Caitlin M. S. Buxbaum
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to say what it is about the poem you like. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL