Elizabeth McBride

Ending the Drought
by Elizabeth McBride

It’s raining!
We have waited for so long
we hurry to our doorways and lean out to breathe
the sweet brown smell
of earth licked wet by drops that sip
between roots of curled dry grasses,
trickle down furrows of blackened bark,
and follow matted trenches
in the fields.

It’s raining.
The children stop, put down their toys
and stand tip-toe, edging bare feet toward narrow puddles
forming beneath the eaves.
And we forget that we are grown
reach out to feel the splash and plop
of round fat drops on swollen skin;
savor the cool trail of relief
that traces through our hair
in liquid memories.

It is raining.
Glory be! We stand in awe
to watch the skies unfurl, cascade, and wash us clean.
We think again how little
we can do
to save the world
on our own.

Elizabeth McBride is a Fellow of the National Writing Project, an Amherst Writers and Artists Affiliate, and member of the Michigan Chapter of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. Ms. McBride’s poetry has been published in The Dunes Review, Third Wednesday, Seeding the Snow, Red River Review, and Scintilla.

To the Fallen Soldier by Elizabeth McBride

To the Fallen Soldier
by Elizabeth McBride

Across the state
they flew the flags
at half-mast
for you.
And rains washed
sorrow over your
sweet yesterdays
and our
tomorrows.
“Fallen” just
does not describe
a life lived far
above the rest,
in service to
the care of others
for ‘the good of all,’
a life that placed
the risk of loss
or even death
beneath the cause
of hope.

You never “fell.”
Now rightfully,
you soar.

May 28, 2012

After the Autopsy by Elizabeth McBride

After the Autopsy
by Elizabeth McBride

The poem is dry and shriveled,
pinned on the whiteboard
its organs neatly laid
on sterile trays
labeled with blue
and purple odorless dry ink,

the music of its synchronicity
now diagrammed on separate sheaves,
sweet spaces that
once pulsed
with passion;
disconnected chambers now.

The limbs though – they are taut
as if they’re reaching,
still to grasp, maybe
to offer gold
from far beyond
the poem’s last breath.

But there’s the eyes – they stare
not through you only,
they look for you – as if
finding you could
give you back
yourself…

and that
is all the poem
had meant to do.

May 18, 2012

Mother’s Day Pilgrimage, U.S. Hwy. 131 by Elizabeth McBride

Mother’s Day Pilgrimage, U.S. Hwy. 131
by Elizabeth McBride

We stay between the painted
lines, taking our turns
passing politely
on the left
wearing our seat belts
minding the speed
and sitting neatly
in creased pants
while looking out
squeaky clean windows,
playing our radios –
“not too loud”

because
our mothers
‘said so’
once
upon a time.
And now
we bring them
flowers, cards, or
slippers
and we
swallow thoughts
that they look
smaller – maybe just
a little tired. We
pay the bills and
call the Doctor, check
on their prescriptions,
till the garden
mow the lawn.
And when they ask,
“Please, promise
that you’ll call
to let me know
when you
get
home?
– I will wait up.”

We do.

Elizabeth McBride is a Fellow of the National Writing Project, an Amherst Writers and Artists Affiliate, and member of the Michigan Chapter of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. Ms. McBride’s poetry has been published in The Dunes Review, Third Wednesday, Seeding the Snow, Red River Review, and Scintilla.

May 13, 2012

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Serving a little poetic nourishment every morning. Start your day with our new expanded menu. Poems, of course, are our specialty. But we will also be serving a fuller menu that includes poetry book reviews to feed poets' and poetry lovers' souls.

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Ending the Drought by Elizabeth McBride