the zephyr underneath 

There were bellows from underneath the road
one night, as she walked

in her fumbling woe.

We could be so bold as to say she could hear them,

with harrowing precision, like the boughs of the sea

(tumbling in like tumbleweed).

But her fortune lie 

in other things

like fighting tigers in the ring

and basking well

in happenings

of nothing proportions

and blackberry seeds that she sucks from her teeth

to stop the distortions of tooth decay.

She heard the bellows,

the rising steam—but 

one can’t prevent happenings.

Better to let them blow over, unnoticed,

or overlooked, at least.

So she turned her attention

to the memory

of a little puppy that nipped at her feet

when she was just seven upon that street.

Back then, 

There weren’t bellows beneath her feet.


was her failing




copyright: C. Ward 2016


3 thoughts on “the zephyr underneath 

  1. Hi Zephyr,
    Just wanted to come by and congratulate you on a strong poem (what strong language, intense!) and an amazing graphic to accompany it.
    I am interested in photography and often blog about it.
    Maybe you can check out my blog if you need a blogging tip or two. That’s what I write about.

    Liked by 1 person

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