A BALMY DAY IN JANUARY
like none I’ve seen in years. In the park,
sunshine heals like days I waited urgently
to be free of walls, to tear across the pasture
on my mare, rushing toward fulfilling childhood dreams.
I stroll with Rocky this winter day, warm enough
to over-heat his black fur, his weakened bones.
His unconditional love fills a tiny part of that left empty now.
Women in tennis attire stride toward the courts,
new bags on their shoulders, swinging rackets,
tossing hair, wearing trendy shoes. Love – one.
Love-two, their happy voices sing on brisk air.
Tennis was once our game, long ago,
when a simple quarrel over a match seemed
the end of our world; a gentle world we did not
properly nurture, because we didn’t know
what we didn’t know.
Bio: Glenda Beall’s poetry has been published in Wild Goose, Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Journal of Kentucky Studies, Main Street Rag, Appalachian Heritage, and numerous other journals and anthologies. My poetry chapook, Now Might as Well be Then, was published in 2009 by Finishing Line Press.