Like Yesterday
by Margaret Colangelo
This morning,
of all the mornings,
the moon woke me.
I followed the light
CT Silver and Gold
by Margaret Colangelo
The river slides a silver seam through town.
Bank-side blooms lift their faces to its crown.
Spring threads a thin, shy gold along the ledge.
Petals spill like small, bright coins upon the silted edge.
You
by Margaret Colangelo
You-
pulling confetti from ordinary mornings,
and your laugh that can rearrange the furniture of my day.
You-
turn long roads into alleyways of stories-
Measured Light
by Margaret Colangelo
Affection,
like tinder,
kindles quickly.
Left free,
Broken Only By
by Margaret Colangelo
I walk out to the weekends’
night sounds.
Mostly stale stillness
broken only by
Whereabouts
by Margaret Colangelo
Lost by design, or by a paper crease?
You folded south into a new direction—
a river swallowed the road’s thin voice,
The compass shrugged and chose the wrong horizon.
The Oblation of My Existence
by Margaret Colangelo
The oblation of my existence-
A mother who languished to love me
A sordid paternal story
My providence-
Not Fit For Purpose
by Margaret Colangelo
Not Fit for Purpose
A poet writes her name
on the back of a breeze,
Friday Night Parade Rains
by Margaret Colangelo
Remind me-
of Friday night parade rains
or antique engines’ stutter.
Describe how-
the air hangs with roasted beef, fried dough, and the stale yeastiness of the beer pit.
Friday Night Parade Rains
by Margaret Colangelo
Remind me-
of Friday night parade rains
or antique engines’ stutter.
Describe how-
the air hangs with roasted beef, fried dough, and the stale yeastiness of the beer pit.
Some Time
by Margaret Colangelo
Some time,
I am still that small child,
playing in my room,
creating a life where the dog never dies.
Where everything stays just as it should.
Restless
by Margaret Colangelo
Restless?
No, I need to rest more
In these wee hours of this morn
If I was a betting girl, boy,
I’d say we should
Restless
by Margaret Colangelo
Restles?
No, I need to rest more
In these wee hours of this morn
If I was a betting girl, boy,
I’d say we should
I Lean Into Language
by Margaret Colangelo
I lean into language
like a storm-struck tree
in our woods.
Limbs fall
to the fern floor as
Zone 6a
by Margaret Colangelo
Bent backs
Soil stained knees
Direct seeding
Hope
Little You
by Margaret Colangelo
Little You
needed space
and a fair amount of grace
to take those
Big Ideas
Amour d’été
by Margaret Colangelo
Je t’aime une rose
En l'été
Avec la chaleur.
Mais rien ne se compare à
Le chaleur
A Stiff Word
by Margaret Colangelo
A Stiff Word
Poems
take the most raw words,
kink them just so