Shy and peeking
through the cracks,
a spirit shivered white,
disturbed fleeting dust
fragile as new maple leaves,
the widow starts a-working
such warmth within the
vague spot of light which
fell from the open door,
bubbling ragged and
wispy wet poetry
from ribboned solitude
flight of frantic wings
around her shine
angel fancies,
blown up and away.
Previously published as part of Found Poetry Review’s “Pulitzer Remix Project.
Poem “found” across several pages of Andersonville, by MacKinlay Cantor.
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash.
Catherine Seitz Nichols 