I am a mosaic of Emerald Isle,
Italian leather and gypsy song.
I am swirls of magic,
Stories my grandmother told in Slovak,
a foreign language she lived in,
but never taught us.
I am salt. I am water.
Flowing blue to green,
dancing calm to chaos in a white foam dress.
I did not root in mountain mud
like an evergreen, but in sand,
like a pitch pine or orchid
moving with fire and breeze
in the barrens of New Jersey.
I am the woman
stepping off the known trail Continue reading “Dawn Leas, Three Poems”