Friday, April 7, 2017


In honor of National Poetry Month, here is my original poem, "White."


You can’t recall how or when
but now you know what’s true.
You don’t have to ask anymore.
They are here,
they can see you,
they can hurt you—they want to.
Here are instructions for escape:
the way is always up.
You slip back to your childhood
home, to the second floor,
to your room with the toybox
and the window facing the backyard,
the unknown forest beyond
as far as you can see,
the full moon over dense trees,
glazing them silver-white.
That’s the route.
Outside, crickets rasp the air.
Inside, silence.
You feel your wings spreading,
white feathers as you step through the window,
white wings carrying you over
white trees,
everything white.

©JEF 2016

No comments: