Penelope Weiss


On Stony Ground

Cronos offers me his arm. 
His voice cracks in the August air.
His cane with its spikey foot
crunches shards of light in the stony field.
He bends down to speak to me, but I can’t hear him.
There’s a strong wind from the east.
Some kind of music plays across the river.
Is it music or just the water moving?
I’m distracted. I ask him to speak louder. 
His mouth moves, but I still can’t hear him.
Time hasn’t been kind to Cronos, the old fool.
Nor to me.



It Happened in the Village

I sent him a thank-you card for the jug of maple syrup.
The card had a photo I took of a narcissus in our garden, 
its fragile body glistening with drops of water. 

Then I heard his son was hurt in a car crash in the village. 
Wait! Isn’t the narcissus a flower of death? 
What’s the matter with me? Can’t I get anything right?



What Did I See? (Green)




Scholar of Green Thoughts

Look, green shards, green threads drift from above. 
The scholar of green thoughts kisses you. 
Look, the material of hope is right there.
Let it feed your heart. You can’t forget love
just because hate is in your face. 
But it’s not hate, it’s the fever that makes you cry.
The ancient ones who lived before you,
long before you were born, flew past your crib.
They kissed you. They loved you.
(No more flying like those ones.)
You didn’t see them. You didn’t hear them. You were sleeping.
Look, the scholar of green thoughts kisses you again.

Penelope Weiss grew up in New York City and now lives in Shrewsbury, Vermont. Storiana, her collection of stories, is available on Amazon.

 
 

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