Dawn’s Dobro

by Karen Kelsay

I found your melody inside the night;
it lulled me through the eye of winter’s star;
I know you always loved the steel guitar
and once again you played for me. Moonlight
had barely filtered through my willow tree
across the pond. A robin had begun
her early tune beneath the eave, and one
small cloud along the hill had wrestled free
to dissipate above the water’s sheen,
like wayward thoughts that move without a helm
or sail, to float upon another realm.
Your quiet song still resonates between
the sky and earth, for me. It dwells upon
lamenting clouds, then slides into the dawn.

Karen Kelsay is a native Californian who spent most of her childhood weekends on a boat. Her husband is British, and she travels to England regularly to visit family and enjoy the countryside. She received a Pushcart Prize nomination in 2009 and is the author of five chapbooks. Some of her recent poems have appeared in The New Formalist, Lucid Rhythms, Boston Literary Magazine, and The Lyric. You can find more of her poetry at www.karenkelsay.com.
Back to Issue Six: Winter 2010