Two Poems By Deborrah Corr

In Old Growth

The planet and its forest pivot far enough
for the sun to stream between silent giants.

Light switches on. Bracken and cedar boughs 
are serving plates of yellow gold.
 
Salal dazzles like tables of silver jewelry. 
A heart has to fill with something like joy
 
or gratitude. The forest asks for nothing. 
In its tall, rooted silence it withstands us.
 
Beneath the soil, its network will never 
even speak of our passing.
Death of a Carpenter

It’s raining nails as if the sky is cleaning shop.

It’s raining my dead husband’s hair as well,
the hair I shook from the pillow, clumps of it.

An unaccustomed clatter from the clouds,
cans of screws and bolts, old saws discarded.
 
Listen. Is there a sound as unfinished projects
fade? Can you hear a life lifting, just a hint 

of music, a white vapor in its going.

Deborrah Corr is a long-time resident of Seattle where she taught kindergarten for twenty-eight years. Currently, she is digging as deeply as she can into the joy and craft of poetry. She also quilts, reads and enjoys the outdoors where she can be seen watching and sometimes talking with birds. Her work has appeared in Crosswinds Poetry Journal, The Halcyon, and Raven Chronicles.

2 comments

  1. Hello, Deborah: So wonderful to read the work of someone who is practically a neighbour (I’m in Victoria, BC). Also a former teacher. Maybe it’s the landscape that inspires or occasions some of our poems (please take a look at one of mine from April 12, Grass Attends…). Your imagery is so sharp and apt and accumulates such associations as the poem moves forward. And those final two lines! The reverberations of your poem last long after a reading and gain more significance after multiple re-readings. Thank you for your craft and art. Robert Graham

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