On Finding the Great Witley Church by Karen Kelsay

We saw your massive golden dome from down below, a baroque body oddly out of place. I snapped your picture by the brown limbs hanging near the roadside fence, devout   old guards, one hundred years had left behind. We leaned across your speckled balustrades beside the river, where worn paths entwined and crisscrossed near … Continue reading On Finding the Great Witley Church by Karen Kelsay

Hard Head Diver by Karen Kelsay

He keeps his diving helmet in a shed. The memories that it buoys up, aren’t dead— that heavy hat of bolts protects his pride. He seldom ever has to look inside the wooden crate beneath the old work bench, where all his man-things: chisel, hammer, wrench, as if in dry dock, wait to be reused. … Continue reading Hard Head Diver by Karen Kelsay

Surprise Possession by Karen Kelsay

She spends her afternoons beside the tree, where Mr. Lizard’s made his home. Last week she caught him in her mouth, and forcefully, my husband pried him out. She doesn’t seek this reptile, or a patterned, scaly prize— just itches for a thrilling chase. For days she’s turned into a sphinx. Unblinking eyes, and breath … Continue reading Surprise Possession by Karen Kelsay

Finding the Powderham Sprite by Karen Kelsay

I sensed her by the fallow deer that fed upon the oak leaves near the sea, and then around the flooded estuary bed where egrets hid between large willows. When a heron waded through the narrow pond and mingled with the geese, I almost saw her cherry lips flash like a regal wand, or damselfly, … Continue reading Finding the Powderham Sprite by Karen Kelsay

Quiet Flame by Karen Kelsay

I read through my old diary tonight. Inside a sweater drawer is where I found it—tattered travel log. It had a slight tear on the spine, but still was neatly bound. I read my thoughts on some far distant night, stone turrets wrapped in ivy, summer-crowned green willow trees with soft Parisian light across the … Continue reading Quiet Flame by Karen Kelsay

On the English Riviera by Karen Kelsay

We step across the green onto the promenade and watch a sloop transition past the harbor of Torquay. It’s late afternoon. Beside me, a German woman chatters about retirement. Her husband sleeps in a hired deck chair, his yellow canvas hat slanted across his face. Beside a long line of beach huts, a mother rummages … Continue reading On the English Riviera by Karen Kelsay

Acceptance by Karen Kelsay

Like trees that shade a path and intertwine to form a summer arch that guards the walk where daffodils and buttercups recline while leaning by the sycamore to talk, our days are linked with laughter, love and sorrow, always embracing gently as they spread. Small buds enhance the pathways of tomorrow by flourishing in shade … Continue reading Acceptance by Karen Kelsay

Lament of the leaves by Karen Kelsay

I caught a maple leaf within my palm. Its body frail as parchment, pressed with brittle veins— just a tinge of gold remained, like some intrinsic breath garnered from a springtime ray. I placed it down for sedges to reclaim. They cradled it, until the snowflakes came. _____________________________________________ Karen Kelsay is the editor of White … Continue reading Lament of the leaves by Karen Kelsay

Seaside at Eighty by Karen Kelsay

We’ll breakfast at Las Brisas when we’re gray, Discussing all our commonalities And differences, admiring the breeze. We’ll chatter and remark about the way The rocking eucalyptus branches seem To hammock threads of morning sun along The coast. Pale clouds will sift to butter-cream And melon, swimming through a blue sarong Of tinctured sky. I’ll … Continue reading Seaside at Eighty by Karen Kelsay

Thoughts After Reading Anne Bradstreet by Karen Kelsay

Today I read your verses, and I wept. Your loss, transcending centuries, has torched a hole in my self-pity, scattered ash across four hundred years, and scorched my martyrdom into the oak-slat floor. The sad account of how your house burned down, your passing of the ruins every day. Each broken brick of future, smudged … Continue reading Thoughts After Reading Anne Bradstreet by Karen Kelsay