Landscaping

Through an emptied afternoon I prune wearied undergrowth
rasping stems break against earth

Last year a neighbor felled a tree whose leaves sheltered my mornings
a sudden spotlight shone in my kitchen when the trunk creaked down
days that followed never as bright or as shaded

Since then my eyes and hands have retreated from shortcuts
imposed by monochrome minds trailing creepers
that fade too far from their roots
and acclimatize to smoke from bonfires set under bridges
overloaded with migrants who scan any horizon
for a fixed star

Mori Glaser spent her earliest years in Singapore, grew up in the UK, and moved to Israel 35 years ago.

Her poetry and flash have appeared in various journals and anthologies, including Eunoia ReviewThe Alexandria ReviewUnbrokenVine Leaves Literary Journal: a collection of vignettes from across the globe; Between the Lines’ anthology, Fairy Tales and Folklore Re-imagined; Akashic Books web series Thursdaze; The Molotov Cocktail’s 2017 Shadow Award (3rd prize).

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Landscaping

  1. Gastradamus says:

    I remember the smell of fresh cut grass just before football practice. Come check out my material buddy, you describe thing so we’ll. With such detail

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.