Tripenta Example “49 Degrees”
On mornings such as these,
with wrens among the trees,
condensing breath will greet
the air surrounding me.
And then the neighbors see
the cold and swaying breeze
that pushes birds to fly along with ease.
(I'm reposting this so you all can see it broken up since Prose publishes it all in one line under the description).
Reflections on a Lake
On the Waccamaw, the water doesn't have a color.
It becomes a mirror, reflecting every shade of autumn,
every cloud like tangled sheets against the wind's ripples.
And as if the river is a ballroom built for queens,
tadpoles dance around each other in perfect harmony,
until the plop of a bobber echoes between the trees,
and a young man gets a Saturday morning catch,
the click click click of his reel bringing in a small catfish.
I watch in awe from the patio
as these speeding little creatures
guzzle down gulps of nectar.
Among them, a hummingbird hesitates.
His glittering green coat reflects the sun
as he eyes me curiously, frightened.
And what will this bird’s babies think
when they hear of how he lived 1,461 days,
yet never tasted the sweet liquid of a hollyhock,
because he was petrified by my presence?
I believe my biggest fear to be this,
the unwavering anxiety of what-ifs.