Tuesday, April 5, 2016

A Poem by Wilda Morris

The Window

Why did the sparrow lay dying
on my grandson's bed
by the attic window?
The attic of what house?

Why did I call
my sister to remove
the quivering body?

Some say dreams
have no explanation.
Others insist there are truths
only dreams tell.

Maybe fears for the child
whose bed was invaded.

Maybe something about
my sister's strength, about how
I depend on her
to pull me through shadows.

And maybe part of me knows
that more than light can pass
through closed windows.

Wilda Morris is workshop chair of Poets & Patrons of Chicago, and former president of the Illinois State Poetry Society.  She has led poetry workshops for a variety of ages in three states.  Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize, she has won awards for free and formal verse and haiku.  Wilda's book, Szechwan Shrimp and Fortune Cookies:  Poems from the Chinese Restaurant, was published by RWG Press.  More than 400 of her poems have found homes in venues such as anthologies, print and Internet journals and newspapers.  Her work appears in such publications as BorderSenses, Alive Now, Turtle Island Quarterly, After Hours, Journal of Modern Poetry and Whitefish Review.  Wilda Morris's poetry challenge at http://wildamorris.blogspot.com/ provides poetry contest for other poets each month.

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