The Frost-Edged Leaf Has Something to Say About Age Bias
The moisture gathers into the cold
frosting my edges, my visibly brittling substance.
Will you say I am less beautiful
than the red or orange or yellow I was?
Less vibrant and new than my green days?
Am I useless to you as you cast your eyes
down onto the earth? Do you envision me
as detritus instead of my emerging self
in the passage of time you, too, cannot
avoid. Look at me! How lovely is the wisdom
of my structure, knowing how to adapt
to the winter of my life. How exquisite
my lines of life’s blossoming, my tree’s challenges.
How I thrill to my own presence as a work of art
for this poet who stops to watch, glistens with my frost,
marks my time on this earth with her own.
.
The Baby is a Poem as the Day Begins
She drinks as dawn drinks in
the night, sucking the dark away
pausing for breath, for rest.
She takes form in the shadows
of the early morning room
holding with one hand, lifting
the other to design words
she cannot speak, conducting
a song she embodies, sending up
as prayer for we two in sacred time
together, touching the folds
of my whisper-soft robe.
© Carol Coven Grannick
Carol Coven Grannick writes for adults and children, most recently published in The Birmingham Arts Journal, Poetry NI+, Capsule Stories, and others, and children’s magazines Cricket, Ladybug, Babybug, Highlights, Hello, and The Dirigible Balloon. Her verse novel, REENI’S TURN, debuted in 2020. She loves that poetry bends to its purpose, capturing and giving meaning to the vast inner and outer wonders of being alive on this earth.
The Loch Raven Review 