Some mornings, although we wake weary, the birds
bring blessings. So a mother will rise
from her sleepless night to witness
yet another offering of hope--day’s possibility.
Some evenings, although we’ve been closed, love sparks
a hint of warmth. A father will halt his busyness
and in the sudden opening old laughter appears,
carries him further back to himself.
Bless our lives today. Watch carefully for
lost ones and seek their eyes; touch
an arm to bring solace. Naming losses,
we carry stones out of the depths.
Murkiness below. Above, weeping rocks--
Citrine. Beryl. Jasper. Angelite.
--after Carol Ann Duffy
Julie Stuckey grew up in Pennsylvania, graduated from the University of Delaware with a degree in Business/Philosophy concentration and currently lives in upstate New York. She has three grown children and is especially drawn to writing that is firmly rooted in the imagery of the natural world. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in many literary journals and anthologies, including A Handful of Dust, Apropos Literary Journal, Blast Furnace, Broad River Review, Into the Teeth of the Wind, Moonshot Magazine, Prairie Wolf Press Review, Seven Hills Review, Verdad, WestWard Quarterly, and Wilderness House Literary Review. Several of her poems have received Finalist or Honorable Mention in recent contests.
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