Violent Seams in the Concrete

 

Building a Bird: a poem

 Building a Bird

 

As I walk outside, I glance at
the ground, collecting feathers
like small hopes between my
fingers. I like to think the hope
is for you and me, though
the collecting started before
we met. Yet now some significance
has attached itself to this gathering
of down and particles that hold
the possibility of flight:
flight being something you partook of
two months ago from our partnership
and still I search through the air
for these signs of your return,
these particles of your remembrance,
this memory of a brightness sewn between us
I swore was truly there.
Now, when I reach out for you,
what do I wish to accomplish?
What future awaits the two of us,
when only one hand is outheld?
So I wait, and walk, and search,
feather by feather, hoping to build
this winged bridge for you to step
over someday. Or perhaps this pile
shall come together and form a bird
that flies to you and unites us,
leads you back to me. Or rather
I shall don this plumage myself
and fly free into the hope of tomorrow,
not worrying what it might bring.

 

by Julie S. Paschold
aka Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle

2.13.26

Letting Go After the Windstorm: a poem

 

Letting Go After the Wind Storm

This morning there’s a dusting of snow
on everything as if the world has
been salted. Yesterday it was so cold
and still, the view was a painted
landscape. It was difficult to believe
the displaced trash can across the street
had just recently been scooting
down the road from the wind,
the trees waving, branches falling
to the ground, garbage flying
to distances unknown. How things
change as the days progress. I still
think of you, but the terrible ache
feels more clouded, your memory
farther away. Is this what it feels like
to let go?  I’m sorry I could not be
perfect for you. Two days ago
I was touched by three different people
and I felt relief, the diffusing of
a nailed balloon that had been
piercing my chest. So this is what
it is like to be cared for. I had forgotten.
I have a life you do not know.
I am building new roots, reaching
new soil, finding new comfort.
You are still within me somewhere,
always, but this new life is what
you wished for me. The growth
after the windstorm. The salt
after the stillness.
Let spring come.
I shall wait for her. I
shall be ready.

  

by Julie S. Paschold
aka Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle
1.24.26

Tattered Moth: a poem

"Tattered Moth" by Julie S. Paschold

aka Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle

Poet, Artist, Agronomist from Nebraska. Author of Horizons (won 2024 Nebraska Book Award) & Human Nature. Resident Poetry Instructor at Omaha’s Lauritzen Gardens. Speaker for Humanities Nebraska Speaker’s Bureau. Semi-finalist in Kate Sommers Memorial Prize, honorable mention in two Writer's Digest contests.