The
Sparrow
Helen
Losse
A
sparrow calls as the sun comes up
in
a world that overflows
with
pain only God can remove.
But what force leads me toward contrition?
I’ve
been crying all night long,
tears
staining my cheek, making it itch with
grief.
My eyes are puffy, red.
The
process is logical enough
like
faith leads to hope, then hopefully
onward
toward love. The sparrow,
who
now flies toward the brush, welcomes
the
warm light of the sun without
knowing
(anything) about me. Still, the salt of
repentance
brought me to this place,
where
today I am a winter tree,
pregnant
with the germ of forgiveness.
***
Helen
Losse is a poet, freelance writer, and Poetry Editor of The
Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. Her recent poetry
publications include Mastodon Dentist, Southern Hum,
Adagio Verse Quarterly, The Centrifugal Eye, Ann
Arbor Review, and Blue Fifth Review. She has two chapbooks,
Gathering the Broken Pieces, available from FootHills Publishing,
and Paper Snowflakes, available from Southern Hum Press.
©
Helen Losse