Poetry

The Hawk

The forest is the only place
where green is green, and blue is blue.
Walking the forest I have seen
most everything. I’ve seen a you
with yellow eyes and busted wing.
And deep in the forest, no one knew.

—Wendy Videlock
(originally published in Poetry)



To the Woman in the Garden

You did not notice the roses,
the stones, or even
the toad, the child,
the sapling, the totem
pole, the crow, the dusk,
or the hummingbird,
the mantis, the dove,
or the hushed
word

but spoke instead,
but spoke at length
of the horrible
horrible
horrible world.

—Wendy Videlock
(originally published in The New Criterion)



Dear Universe

In all this calm,
in all this mist,
these vague shaped

continents

begin to drift.
A finger lifts,

falls again.
A foghorn sounds,

passionless.
Do you wonder

what we are
in all this calm,
in all this mist.

Wolf prints.

Red clay.

A slender wrist.

Murder. Magic.

Ballet.

—Wendy Videlock
(originally published in Rattle)