Light-house
You warm star-body, lighting your way through my dark room,
Felled embers from your eyes
spilling on me, too
A light hand like leaf,
falling swiftly, brief
my body pulled from a lake-gloom
now fevered, cheeks a strange hue
Like coupled swans,
mirroring you
Brilliant bright against cold ashes
Touch abundant,
adorations plentiful
Not lacking heat
nor bereaved in your rare absence
My lantern in dead night,
a wispy, willing guide
through mountain fields,
and its rocky side
A foggy, waiting summit,
though harsh,
I climb
— Jahlil Granum
Cortland
A Season Delayed
The whole world has to see,
The winter lingering in the East.
The endless cold that clings to us,
Killing off the Spring who’d set us free.
Drowning many voices in the snow,
Preventing many things to thrive and grow
and not allowing the new breath of life to show.
This Winter blanket—they believe keeps warmth.
In reality, suffocates us to the core.
How much longer until Winter ends?
Only Spring can answer until then.
— Diana Gudz
Cortlandville
