Breath & Shadow
Summer 2020 - Vol. 17, Issue 2
"It’s Raining, It’s Pouring"
written by
Lynn Guttmann
light is falling
on my gingko's saffron fans
and gently layered Japanese maples
the sun’s alchemy
turning
jade and purple lace
into wisps of fire
I curl,
buttoned like a potato bug,
into my aged canvas chair
contemplating
the haze sauntering across the lake’s valley
stretching along the undulating urban hills
I burrow
into my bed
listening
to the dark
endless rain,
a backbeat on the skylight
singing to myself
rain, rain
go away
my child’s self,
stands on tip toes,
next to mother’s bed
unable to escape
her wordless
love me love me
don’t leave
me
pebbles inside
my sandals
her endless winters
cold, fiery worries,
like warbling country songs,
or unfurling blues riffs
your father’s
working late
again he’s at the office
more than home
your father’s
paying more
attention to her
girls - not
ours
as my maples’ tight origami buds
await the joy of blossoming,
shy crocus and pale cyclamen
emerge from the soft ground
and Schubert’s Trout spills
from my living room
into sunlight -
rippling through sparkling waters
plunging into turbulence
rising into tranquility
I lean,
my elbows against the deck,
absorbing spring’s new-borne warmth
Lynn is an accomplished visual artist. When her fibromyalgia became more intrusive, she retired from her job as a municipal engineering and community development director. She writes poetry to express frustration, isolation, and anger that is tempered by her love for nature and family. Her work has appeared in the literary journals Parentheses, Wordgathering, Cleaning Up Glitter, Kaleidoscope and Life Lines.