Agnes Vojta – 2 poems

Shadow

 

It is the hour of the bats. They streak

black across purple sky, dart

between silhouettes of trees

that swallow the bats into blackness.

 

My mother and I sit on the porch. Every night

we watch the fireflies appear

and dance on the grass. We cannot

decipher their coded signals.

 

Mom delights in the fireflies and the bats

and the moon as if she sees them

for the first time. The goodbye

leans its shadow over us. We both know:

 

this is her last visit. So we don’t

talk about grave things, but just

point out the bats

and drink the last of the wine.

 

🍃

 

Mondays

 

Mondays are transitions.

We said goodbye Sunday night,

and you drove off, leaving

the house empty again.

I put away my hiking boots

and the red dress.

 

Mondays are bridges

to the week’s busy bustle.

Over coffee I consult

the calendar for appointments.

Outside, rain soaks

desolate February fields.

 

On Mondays,

I am off balance,

slow to settle into the day.

I stare out the window,

see the rain streak past,

and wait for equilibrium.

🍃

 

Agnes Vojta grew up in Germany and now lives in Rolla, Missouri where she teaches physics at Missouri S&T.

She is the author of Porous Land (Spartan Press, 2019).

Her poems recently appeared in As It Ought To Be Magazine, Gasconade Review, Thimble Literary Magazine, Trailer Park Quarterly,  Poetry Quarterly, Sonic Boom, and elsewhere.

Her website is agnesvojta.com.

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