(Genesis 8:11)
By Kristin Gifford
April 15, 2023
April 15, 2023
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Lately, when he lifts his face
to ask if he can have a brother or a sister, I feel my biological river rising to the bank of that question, rushing to answer. But yesterday, on my afternoon walk a robin lay dead on the path, black eye a planet of nothingness; and then again, headed back, a pigeon with her head torn off, stunned mid-flight, wings wide on brown grass. The sky fills with clouds like smoke and a wildfire sunset blazes too early and all afternoon. Child, my mouth is full of olive leaves, yet I have no place to land. |
Kristin Gifford is a Minneapolis teacher turned poet who, in the words of one of her favorite poets, William Stafford, believes “there’s a thread you follow.” Her thread leads her into nature, into memory, and back to the hearts and lives of her partner and child. Kristin’s poetry is being published this spring and summer in the Briar Cliff Review, Oakwood Literary Journal and Sojourners Magazine.