Why I Avoid Thinking about Religion
Half-hidden sun above the forest of my garden,
Two brown squirrels squirm in a white birch,
Leaves yellowed by autumn.
The flowering plum, unflowering now, spends all its time prinking,
soon to be maroon.
I sketch trunks, bark, maples’ crimson, the foliage of dogwood,
and azaleas blooming out of season—
The dog next door barks at everything: words, wind,
moving shadows, me.
Two brown squirrels squirm in a white birch,
Leaves yellowed by autumn.
The flowering plum, unflowering now, spends all its time prinking,
soon to be maroon.
I sketch trunks, bark, maples’ crimson, the foliage of dogwood,
and azaleas blooming out of season—
The dog next door barks at everything: words, wind,
moving shadows, me.
Connie Gutowsky's poems and essays have appeared in literary journals, a chapbook, and travel journals. A collection of her poetry, Play, was published by Random Lane Press in 2013. She was an associate editor of Tule Review in 2014 and 2015. She spent her professional life as a criminal defense attorney and began the serious study of poetry after retiring from the practice of law in 2002.