Linda Parsons: The Other Side
To unlock my Akashic records, I speak my name three times to the psychic, echo the spell that flew Dorothy over the rainbow, farther still, home to sepia Kansas.
Linda Parsons: Two Poems for Christmas
the light hasn’t always been easy to find—
haloed fires of childhood, my walk
on coals to the marriage pyre, parents
passed to flame and ash. All have sparked
the change ahead, all have lit the way.
John Zheng | Valediction: Poems and Prose by Linda Parsons
Parsons’s contemplation moves from shaping garden beds to shaping life. Garden is an island of necessity where her “orbits in and out of the perennial beds” have shaped her life for thirty years.
Linda Parsons: Two Poems
I’m not a healer, though maybe
I am—my ordinary hands laid on the scathing past
to cool its sear, my palms a bowl cupping
the last drop of day in blind descent.
Linda Parsons: Checkers with my Granddaughter
She’s not out for blood but, like her father,
a natural strategist and soon has me
in her grasp.
Linda Parsons: Two Poems
Glad as I was to see
the wasp squirm in the web, shields aquiver,
lance of its ass lowered, I was not prepared
for her glittering approach.
Linda Parsons: Visitations
Everything seems to glow richer before first frost, a last hurrah before the ghostly breath passes over.
