Anna in Autumn 

brown hummingbird flying
Photo by AS R on

Anna in Autumn 

There are snowmen hands-on trees and leaves hang by nails.

Autumn blue foretells a winter sky. It is the quiet without the storm.

The spring green of plastic turf recalls the ghosts of summer.


I can almost hear the muffled thuds…the silence is a kind of death.


Winter lies on the horizon, anticipating 13 degrees;

snow on the valley floor. 

The wind died among fallen leaves, 

hushing traffic on the freeway.


Into the silence…I hear the wing, the feather,

of brown girl, flicker between the cross of branches.

She shimmers, hovers in late afternoon light.


The beating wings, pumping heart

the substance of life in winter.

Winter possesses death in the drift of lavender composting gray.


Life is hidden.

Life behind beetle bark and spider silk,

hawking the living out of mid-air.


I ponder Anna in Autumn and hypostasis union.

Life stalled in migration. Life lived without apparent sustenance.

In, with, and under the water, blood, and bread.

The Divine and the Mundane in a tiny brown body.


First published in The Green Silk Journal, Winter 2016.

Published by: Basicallybarb

Barbara A Meier is a poet, teacher, and mother, trying to write her way out of Kansas, anxiety and depression. Instead of indulging in feeling like garbage, trash, or rubbish, she chooses to examine the debris of her life by writing poems about it. After all as a forgiven, child of God, simultaneously saint and sinner, she is loved and cherished by her God.

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