Read Excerpts from The Chaffin Journal

Poetry

The old dog grumbles through the dark
since your husband died. Such shadows
pass under the stars without a sound,
sleep becomes as dreadful as daylight.

Since your husband died, such shadows
under your eyes, your daughter worries.
Sleep becomes as dreadful as daylight
with the back shutters coming loose

Under your eyes, your daughter worries
about bills unpaid, notes unanswered
and the black shutters coming loose
as if to make a January wind welcome

About bills unpaid, notes unanswered,
you just shrug. Everything arranges
as if to make a January wind welcome
and come what comes to fill a life.

You just shrug, everything arranges
itself in your hands as if by change,
and comes what comes to fill a life
that's held too many days already.

Itself, in your hands as if by chance,
a bird flown senseless against glass
that's held too many days already,
sun and moonbeam, so much light,

a bird flown senseless against glass.
The old dog grumbles through the dark,
sun, and moonbeam, so much light
pass under the stars without a sound.