Fall 2008, Volume 5

Poetry by Marcia Szymanski

Snowstorm, Norton MA

In February's fury
he disappeared
buried between snow—
flakes, heavy and raw,
muffling tender shouts
of a boy searching
for his lost dog.

Two days gone,
his dog, long returned
sits at the door
refuses to eat
sniffs at the small
black sneaker.

The Songmaker

She counts them out
thirty yellow pills
like cracked corn.
enough to keep her
singing if she chooses
to take as directed.
But today she does not
choose to take as directed,
to swallow yellow seeds,
to fertilize her brain.
Today she is angry.
Anger grabs the pestle
sends yellow dust clouds
into the air.


Joy comes like lighting bugs
at the edge of the day,
sparks fading into night.

As a child I once captured
two of these sprinkles of light
in an old pickle jar, complete
with tiny air holes. They died
when I wasn't looking.

Joy can be that way.

BIO:  Marcia Szymanski is a poet, activist and social worker. Most recently her work has been published in Bridges: A Jewish Feminist Journal and The Berkshire Review. She lives in Massachusetts with her spouse, two cats and a dog.