Sandy Solomon: Pears, Lake, Sun
Pears on a sunlit ledge, flashes of lake,
how the poised world pressed itself
through the floating surface of that day,
how the manifest made its mark.
May 25, 2022 · Leave a comment
Sandy Solomon: In Deepest February
The heavy snow has split the oak out front,
its right branch lodges in a parked car’s roof
and splays across the windshield and the hood.
February 4, 2021 · 3 Comments
Sandy Solomon: Lost, Departed, Late
In the Serengeti four elephants rest without heads,
bodies rising like boulders from the plain…
July 29, 2020 · 1 Comment
Sandy Solomon: Widow
An amputated leg, they say, tingles,
an ear long deaf still jangles the brain:
the body asserts the integrity of its parts…
April 29, 2020 · 2 Comments
Sandy Solomon — Little Letter to the Future: Die Off
From the new year, dolphins began dying
by the thousands, and those were the ones we saw,
their bodies washed up on the beaches…
September 30, 2019 · 1 Comment