ISSN 1551-8086
return to home search for a contributing writer

seach for poems by title

archive of previous issues submissions information mailing list online store links to other interesting sites contact us  
  November 2019
volume 16 number 2
-table of contents-
  contributing poets
  William Allegrezza
  Alan Britt
  Anna Cates
  Charles Claymore
  Beverly M. Collins
  Timothy Paul Evans
  Mark A Fisher
  Kathie Giorgio
  Terry McCarty
  Christine Murray
  Christopher Neal
  Brian Rihlmann
  John D Robinson
  Walter Ruhlmann
  Howard Sage
  Sanjeev Sethi
  Mark States
  Davide Trame
  Amy Uyematsu
  Patricia Walsh
  Viola Weinberg
  Kirby Wright
  Umar Yogiza Jr
  Jim Young
  mailing list
Amy Uyematsu
November 2019



photo by françois biajoux

    Amy Uyematsu is a third-generation Angelino. A poet and former high school math teacher, she currently leads a writing workshop at the Far East Lounge in downtown Little Tokyo. Amy's most recent book is Basic Vocabulary (Red Hen Press, 2016).



Sister Muse

Just outside my window I see something white move across the pond. Is it a fish?
The thrust of a bird's pale wing. Then it’s gone. I don’t believe in ghosts -
and angels, at best, are human bound. A meteorologist might tell me it's only
a cloud reflected on the pond’s surface. But right now, in this New England
forest, so far away from everything I know, I could believe anything in this sacred
place – burial ground for trees, birds, deer, talking tribes who don't need words.
Besides the familiar maple, aspen, and pine, there are hazel, sassafras, sarsaparilla,
even four kinds of birch. After many generations, Pequot still inhabit the land;
so do the descendants of Pilgrims and later generations of slaves brought north.
I'm only here for a few days, a visitor unfamiliar with this autumn paradise, trying
to ponder long held questions – here, where all the things I call “my life” turn
quiet and small in the midst of so much beauty, the green trees revealing scattered
branches of ripening yellows, reds, and shades of orange impossible to name -
all these colors mirrored in the water. Keeping my eye on the pond, I watch
a sudden ripple of wind, causing the same wing-like motion I saw before.
Then the water shimmers, wind and light playing tricks with my mind, as if a hermit
fish is rising up from the depths, or a sister muse submerged far below, now drawn
to these same brilliant hues, cannot help but burst through.

copyright 2019 Amy Uyematsu