Tag Archives: Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas

The Benediction, Little Bird of Mine

I take her to the garden, a place beside the bubblegum dahlias. I sing to her softly, the way my mother sang to me. My song hypnotizes her, like a mystic blessing, and she grips my finger; a tightrope walker … Continue reading

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Angeline and a red basket of figs

She lingered on the porch, left foot teetering unsteadily over the edge, an old basket of chartreuse figs in hand. Dressed in a threadbare black scented like lemon trees, she sang our names in foreign accent. Warily we guided her … Continue reading

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Three Boxes from the Dearly Departed

I am the holder of three boxes: each a collection of years gone by − one cerulean blue safety deposit- style with draping handle, another: pearl leather with gold catch hanging cockeyed from the top lid and one buckskin-covered box … Continue reading

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Calypso’s Flight

If you’d have called my name I might have known before you saw a breadth of sky, then flown above the neighbor’s house, the gust below your wings, I might have lassoed feathers slow between my hands, because an impulse … Continue reading

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