Fall 2010, Volume 9

Poetry by Julie Stuckey


We swim in symbols.
A hawk flies high above the highway
searching for prey while soaring the updrafts.
A white middle-aged man plays his
copper saxophone to the tiled subway wall.
A young doe is killed at dusk
along the lonely country road.
Last year’s brittle leaves scritch across hard ground.
Under brilliant evening sunsets
we are given runes to decipher when the wind calms.
Beneath busy lives our constant searching never stills.
We step over crumpled litter.
We hear faint whispers call,
each warbling, cooing, braying, sighing
murmur, shout or hymn
a beckoning missive calling us to remember
our more ancient tongue.  


BIO: Julie Stuckey grew up in Pennsylvania, graduated from the University of Delaware with a degree in business and currently resides in New York. She is a writer not associated with any program or school, although she has immersed herself in workshops with Sharon Charde, Pat Schneider, Marie Howe, Ellen Bass, and Page Lambert (editor and author). She has three (relatively) grown children and write poetry exclusively.