by Amy C. Billone
I was the gold haired child
in the yellow field.
My small hands stroked
the tilting sunlit grass.
My eyes glowed
in sugary emerald air.
I sat cross-legged—
My jeans and gentle
running shoes were blue.
Now I wear grown fists,
sadness, sky cries, love rips—
How many red heart leaves
plunge from bare tangled
trees onto my voiceless
lips and throat?
I hold no umbrella.
The gray breathless river
overflows—
And every towering
wind struck willow
in the world weeps
its holy sea green
story sweetly
down.
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Amy C. Billone Amy. C. Billone received her Ph.D. in Comparative Literature at Princeton University in 2001. In 2003, she won the Sidonie Class Memorial Prize for the finest dissertation defended in the Comparative Literature Department at Princeton University over a two-year period. Billone is currently working as an Associate Professor of English at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. She has published poems widely. Over the past few years, she has had poems accepted by such books and journals as Abbey, Barbaric Yawp, Bellowing Ark, The Blind Man’s Rainbow, ByLine Magazine, California Quarterly, Connecticut River Review, Cotyledon, Dogwood: A Journal of Poetry & Prose, Edgz, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, Hiram Poetry Review, The Hurricane Review, Illuminations, An International Magazine of Contemporary Writing, Knoxville Bound, MÖBIUS, The Poetry Magazine, New Millennium Writings, The New Zoo Poetry Review, Plainsongs, POETALK, Poetry Depth Quarterly, Red Rock Review, SLAB: sound and literary art book, Small Brushes, and Wavelength: Poems in Prose and Verse. |
WILLOWS WEPT REVIEW 