Kristin Roahrig
Each Week Each week, I step across stonesRemove my shoes and with bare feet feel the cool wood press parts of my skin barely touched Each week, I bring my mind who constantly roves and like a wayward pet shakes the leash, And each week together we cross a thresholdfacing only ourselves -A breath pauses- then escapes a silent sigh
Glance to Reality With grounded strength,needles cling to the tree akin to the sharp pricks into my mind Thoughts, refusing- repeating stories of life all told in my own fashion the needles cling to areality already gone traces of wintercoolness of ground both needles of tree and mindreluctant to leave my perception to leap across my photo imageinto the reality beyond -Yet in the stillness on a night of falling snowa rip is at times seen displaying a stable peace one moment following another
Single Grain Sitting within a deserteach grain a particleseparate but inseparablecovering a vast space The sands steady meBut it is the sky-The sky that interprets my mindreds, yellow, and blueshowing all my colorsvanity of colors chasing one another Look away an hourA minuteA second Glancing again before me No sandNo sky Into my palm a single grain falls,Encompassing
Kristin Roahrig's short stories and poems have appeared in various publications. She is also the author of several plays and lives in Indiana.
Glance to Reality With grounded strength,needles cling to the tree akin to the sharp pricks into my mind Thoughts, refusing- repeating stories of life all told in my own fashion the needles cling to areality already gone traces of wintercoolness of ground both needles of tree and mindreluctant to leave my perception to leap across my photo imageinto the reality beyond -Yet in the stillness on a night of falling snowa rip is at times seen displaying a stable peace one moment following another
Single Grain Sitting within a deserteach grain a particleseparate but inseparablecovering a vast space The sands steady meBut it is the sky-The sky that interprets my mindreds, yellow, and blueshowing all my colorsvanity of colors chasing one another Look away an hourA minuteA second Glancing again before me No sandNo sky Into my palm a single grain falls,Encompassing
Kristin Roahrig's short stories and poems have appeared in various publications. She is also the author of several plays and lives in Indiana.