DigitalCommons@C.O.D.

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 44 
Number 2 Spring 2022 Article 8 
Spring 5-1-2022 
Table of Contents - Solidarity - Solitary - Solace 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
(2022) "Table of Contents - Solidarity - Solitary - Solace," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 44: No. 2, Article 8. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol44/iss2/8 
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DigitalCommons@COD. It has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of 
DigitalCommons@COD. For more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
SO
LI
D
A
R
IT
Y
 
SO
LI
TA
RY
8 Late Autumn Sun
 Paris Cafe Writing
9 A Lake, Not an Ocean
 On Waiting
10 Nathan Boone
12 Relationships
13 Nostos
 Eye of The Storm
14 Pompa
 Wonder
15 Childish Things
 Tipping Over
16 An Orange Tragedy
 Tiger Lily 
17 The Mandarin’s Dilemma
 A New Day
18 Cracks
19 Lace of That Day
20 Floating Fallen Leaves
 Nature Reclaims Bridge
21 The Sibling Reenactment
22 The Good Red Apple 
24 The Fathoms Below
27 Chiaroscuro Model of David
28 Father and Son
35 Overwhelming Tomorrow
36 Half-Fledged 
39 Snowy Owl
40 Motion in the City, Chicago
41 Slivers of Light
42 Turning Towards Myself 
 Destiny Ring
43 Under Film Lights
 Sad Eyes
44 The Monster in the shadows 
45 Host-Ill
46 Think
47 Undying
 Deep in my Couch
48 From the Ghost of Your Dead Father
49 Holy Ghost
 Run
50 Untitled
 Occupied
51 The Bathroom Jester
 Nightmare Ink
52 Snow Shadows
 I Don’t Need a Face
53 Nostalgia
 Night Moves
54 The Heart of Ice
55 The Environmental Exchange
 Safe Together
56 A Love Letter to The Moon
 Ascension
57 Dusk
58 Sinking Ship
 Misunderstood
59 Dear Rose
60 Dandelion Droplets On a Quiet Morning
 The Dam Fixer
62 How Reading Evolved for Me 
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SO
LA
C
E
63 In the Garden
64 Coffee Break
65 The Garden of Eden is Beneath My Feet 
 Solitary
66 Honey Sweet Gold
 Yellow is a Great Color
67 Cuneiform
68 Rotunda
69 Passage
 Winter Walks
70 Flowery Faith
 Lavender Droplet Pirouette
71 9016
 Double Diamond
72 Sunrise on the Lake
 Sunflowers Always Look Towards The Sun
73 Wisdom Will Set You Free
74 Haleakala
 Sonnet No.1 
75 Fall Farm Morning
 A patch of golden sunlight where it rains
76 Garden Hammock 
77 Tulip Underwater
78 Moving On
79 Passing By
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English

Table of Contents - Solidarity - Solitary - Solace

Markos, Karian

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 44 
Number 2 Spring 2022 Article 15 
Spring 5-1-2022 
Nostos 
Karian Markos 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Markos, Karian (2022) "Nostos," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 44: No. 2, Article 15. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol44/iss2/15 
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has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For 
more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
Nostos                  Karian Markos
 
If it was not for the moon, night would swallow the open sea at the horizon.
The Captain of the Tahitis waits to see the flicker of the lighthouse,
sole along this coast to guide him, before he turns to port.
The sky’s velvet curtain is pricked with longing and hope.
He knows these patterns; how they change with the seasons year after year.
The waters he navigates are unpredictable and so he is mindful;
cautious not to run aground, as he steers his ship into the narrow, shallow-botomed bay.
This sea has swallowed the dreams of many;
draping billowing, black sails over ships and windows,
sending widows into its depths to follow.
Every woman in this village has bowed over mixing bowls
and seasoned their food with salt and bitter tears.
His was not the only grandmother who whispered nightmare omens into the East wind
to be carried away by the sunrise.
The path is narrow and the bay only deep enough at the center
for his caique to pass without running aground.
As he enters the bay, the lantern-dotted mountainside sings of his homecoming.
A sentinel lamppost illuminates the jetty. A bronze hearted mother,
shading her eyes day and night, gazes over the horizon,
so no man returns to an empty shore.
 
After carefully docking his ship, the Captain greets the woman
with a tip of his hat and a courtly smile.
He ascends his marble plinth and turns to the North
toward the mouth of the bay.
He takes hold of his binoculars and straightens his shoulders,
whereupon he assumes his watch.
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Markos: Nostos
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Nostos

Banerjee, Bankul

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 44 
Number 2 Spring 2022 Article 20 
Spring 5-1-2022 
Tipping Over 
Bankul Banerjee 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Banerjee, Bankul (2022) "Tipping Over," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 44: No. 2, Article 20. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol44/iss2/20 
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has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For 
more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
Tipping over       Bankul Banerjee
That winter long ago, dressing your two-year-old
in a pink snowsuit and purple snow boots, 
you let her go. She tipped over in two minutes
surprising you but you were quick to catch her.
 
On one frigid, snowy morning, you were
lifting the heavy nozzle to fill your gas tank, 
it snapped back at you trying to tip you over.
 
This summer afternoon, your dysfunctional 
spine lacked the strength to tilt the bag of rice,
exactly twenty pounds, from the grocery cart 
to the trunk of your car. You were about to tip over.
 
Then, remember the scene from Kolkata? 
A man was stacking a dozen bricks on the head 
of a frail, kneeling woman. She stood up slowly 
hobbling for hundred yards, to the high-rise 
under construction. Consequences would have been 
dire if she tipped over.
Childish Things (above), Anna Tausz
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Tipping Over

Rodriguez, Mateo

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 44 
Number 2 Spring 2022 Article 33 
Spring 5-1-2022 
Father and Son 
Mateo Rodriguez 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Rodriguez, Mateo (2022) "Father and Son," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 44: No. 2, Article 33. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol44/iss2/33 
This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It 
has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For 
more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
Father and son       Mateo Rodriguez
INT. FENYX’S CHAMBERS. MOREILIA - DAY
Sun hanging over the horizon. Rays shining through open balcony doors. Silk 
drapes lightly fluttering in the wind. The light dancing on the clean marble floors.
KING FENYX (74) and his eldest son LAZAR (34) stand on the balcony.
Fenyx has a devilish red hue to his scales. His right eye has been scarred to such 
a degree that it was shut tight, permanently. Three white scars run down his eye. 
He has a mohawk of snow white feathers running down the top of his head to 
the tip of his tail. Of which is half as short as it should be due to more additional 
battle scars.
He wears fine green silk morning robes.
Fenyx’s eldest son - Lazar - Lord Commander of the king’s guard wears his full 
set of golden king’s guard armor. Red scales and no feathers. His helmet in his 
arms. A long cloak running down to his ankles. A sword is strapped to his back, 
and a large hand gun holstered on his thigh.
Lazar
Are you sure about this?
Fenyx
I am.
Lazar
But he’s just a boy.
Fenyx
He won’t be for very long.
Lazar
I just don’t think he’s ready for this kind of 
responsibility. He’s executing prisoners.
Fenyx
The goal isn’t for him to pull the trigger. What does 
he have to worry about?
Lazar
I worry that he will not be able to handle the pressure 
of three lives in his hands. 
Then
Let alone the pressures of his own father and his 
counsel.
Fenyx
Leave the council to me. No matter what decision 
Tacoma makes, whether to cut their throats or set 
them free.
Fenyx places a hand on Lazar’s shoulder
We will be at his side.
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Fenyx marches back into his wardrobe, changing into a purple overcoat with 
golden stitches. Lazar follows.
Lazar
What if Tacoma doesn’t have the stomach?
Fenyx
You were next in line to take my throne. But you 
gave it up to be a- uh- a bodyguard. If your little 
brother doesn’t have the stomach to be ruler, then I 
will know all I need to know.
(then)
Now go fetch him, will you? And bring him to the 
throne room. I believe he is sleeping in, once again.
Fenyx leaves the room.
Lazar looks down, SIGHING, and rubbing his eyes.
Smash cut to: INT. TACOMA’S CHAMBERS - DAY
Young Prince TACOMA (15) lays in his bed drooling onto his pillow. Red scales 
just like his father and thinner than his brother- less muscular. He also has gray 
feathers, though they are ruffled by the bedhead.
Suddenly the light in his room springs to life.
Lazar
Wake up!
A pair of Tacoma’s ceremonial robes strike his face; waking him up.
Tacoma
Wha...
Lazar
Father is waiting for you in the throne room.
Tacoma
What? Why?
Lazar
I’ll explain to you on the way, just get dressed! We 
are very late!
Tacoma
Can I at least stop for some breakfast on the way?
Lazar raises an eyebrow.
Tacoma
Alright, alright. Breakfast after, then?
Lazar sighs.
INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS
Tacoma had gotten fully dressed. His robes are a dark green with a golden sash 
wrapped around his waist. His right sleeve is a bright red.
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The two brothers now walk down the hallway towards the throne room.
Lazar
I knew you’d be hungry, so I snagged you some 
ham and bread. Here.
He hands Tacoma the food.
Tacoma
Blood orchid seasoned?
Lazar
Just the way you like it.
Tacoma
Thanks
(eating)
So what does father want from me today? Weapons 
training? Council meeting sit-ins? Oh- is it more 
classroom lectures? I hate those!
Lazar
It’s something different this time, Tacoma. He has a 
test for you.
Tacoma
What kind of test?
Lazar
A trial. We caught several pirates. Most of them are 
dead, except for a few stragglers. And now we have 
them in chains.
Tacoma
Am I sitting in on the trial?
Lazar
Not exactly.
Tacoma
What do you mean?
Lazar
I mean, you are going to do Father’s job.
Tacoma
I - what? What are you talking about?
Lazar
You have to play judge, jury, and executioner. Or you 
may set them free. That’s for you to decide.
Tacoma
But why me? Why can’t you do it?
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Rodriguez: Father and Son
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Lazar
Because you’re the prince.
Tacoma
But you’re the oldest-
Lazar
I’m also the Lord Commander of the king’s guard. I 
gave up my birthright to the throne. Let alone my say 
in criminal trials.
Tacoma
But why now? I’m nowhere near- you know- all this! 
Tacoma motions to Lazar’s muscle build.
Lazar
(snickering)
Yeah. I know.
They stop just outside the towering throne room doors.
Lazar pulls out a large knife.
Tacoma
I-I don’t know, Lazar, I don’t think- this is a lot of 
pressure.
Lazar
Look, I know you’re nervous, but this is just 
a test. There are no wrong answers here. Father just 
wants to know for sure what kind of ruler you want to 
be. This is your chance to show him.
Lazar extends the knife’s handle to Tacoma.
Tacoma embraces his brother.
Lazar lightly wraps his arms around Tacoma.
Upon letting go, Tacoma takes the knife.
Tacoma
Alright, I’m ready.
Lazar nods then opens the doors.
INT. THRONE ROOM - CONTINUOUS
A dark brown room. The walls reaching into the clouds. Various pits of fire dim-
ly illuminating the room. The white marble floor has small flakes of gold mixed 
into it.
The room is filled to the brim with citizens coming to watch the trial.
Guards line the room.Tacoma notices three people on their knees at the center of 
the room, tattered bags over their heads.They reach Fenyx, who is standing by 
his throne.
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Fenyx
I trust Lazar filled you in?
Tacoma
Yes, father.
Fenyx
Are you ready?
Tacoma nods.
Fenyx
(grinning)
Then let’s get started.
Fenyx motions for the bags to be removed. Each face is bloodied and 
beaten.
GREYTAIL (45) wears a bloodied and tattered red trench coat. His scales are 
white, except for a large gray splotch on his tail.
The pirate in the middle - CROW (35) - has blue scales and blue feathers. He 
wears worn out cloth leggings and no shirt. His chest is bloodied and bruised.
The third pirate - YLUS (24) - has dark yellow scales and no feathers. She wears 
a small red coat over a snow white undershirt. One eye is bruised shut and a bullet 
wound on her neck has been poorly stitched together.
Fenyx places a hand on Tacoma’s shoulder, instantly easing his stress.
Tacoma swallows and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath-then exhales.
Tacoma
What is his name?
Guard
Captain Greytail, my lord.
Tacoma
What are their charges?
Guard
(clearing his throat)
Piracy, murder, conspiracy against the crown, 
hijacking, smuggling, and arson.
Tacoma
What do they say in their defense?
Guard
Nothing, my lord. They have remained silent since 
their arrest.
Tacoma marches to the captain. Tacoma kneels down.
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Tacoma
(to Greytail)
I believe this is where you come in. Giving me names 
to any conspirators would be a nice start.
BEAT
Tacoma
Hmph. Maybe a guilty-not guilty? That would 
suffice.
Greytail chuckles to himself for a moment.
Tacoma narrows his eyes.
Greytail
You’re clever, boy. But you won’t get anything out 
of us.
Fenyx places a hand under his chin.
Tacoma
We shall see.
(then)
I know neither of you are traders by day, so you can 
start by explaining to me why your vessel was 
found having crates filled with weapons. 
Weapons with Moreilian sigils on it. My sigil. I
 don’t remember selling you guns and ammo.
Greytail
I’m just a middle man, young prince.
Tacoma
So then who stole the weapons and who were you 
smuggling them to?
Fenyx and Greytail’s eyes meet. Fenyx narrows his eyes. Greytail be-
gins to slowly lose his cool composure.
Greytail
You seem to care more about these weapons than 
this trial.
Tacoma
Two birds, one stone. Surely you, as a middle man, 
understand the value of that.
Greytail
You won’t get anything from me-
Tacoma
Yes, of course you’ve made that quite clear.
(then)
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But if you can’t give me the slightest bit of 
information-well, you know how we do things here.
(pulls out knife in front of Greytail)
To people like you. I don’t want to kill you. Truly. 
But give me something I can work with, and I 
promise you mercy.
LONG BEAT.
Greytail
I’m calling your bluff, young lord.
After another beat, Tacoma stands up and slowly makes his way over to 
Ylus. Lowering himself down to her level.
Ylus raises her head to meet Tacoma’s glaring eyes.
Ylus opens her mouth as if to expose the truth. But as she darts her 
sight around the room, she sees Greytail scowling at her.
Ylus shakily lowers her head.
Tacoma presses one finger under her chin, raising her head back up.
Fenyx lets out a grim smile.
Tacoma
Then you are no use to me
Tacoma swiftly thrusts the knife into Ylus’s throat. She falls to the floor. 
Blood pooling unto the white marble.
Greytail watches with a frustrated expression.
Tacoma
(to Crow)
Should I even waste my time with you?
Crow keeps his head lowered. Tacoma cuts his throat, too.
Tacoma
(to Greytail)
You, however, are still of use.
(to the guards)
Take him to the dungeons. And toss the bodies into 
the ocean, where they belong.
The guards carry out Tacoma’s orders, Lazar being among them. Tacoma 
and Fenyx’s eyes meet.
Fenyx nods to his son proudly.
Tacoma has a beaming smile on his face.
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Father and Son

Dillon, MJ

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 44 
Number 2 Spring 2022 Article 46 
Spring 5-1-2022 
Undying 
MJ Dillon 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Dillon, MJ (2022) "Undying," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 44: No. 2, Article 46. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol44/iss2/46 
This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It 
has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For 
more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
Undying
MJ Dillon
The never-ending cycle of life and death; a constant loop no one can escape. 
Many believe immortality is a blessing but, in reality, it is a curse. 
I have been forced to watch the people I hold dear wither away as I remain.
Year after year, decade after decade, century after century I have begged for death. 
Yet no God will answer my prayer when their same blood flows through my veins. 
I have lost too many friends, too many lovers with beating hearts inside them. 
With each death my soul breaks. 
I tell myself time and time again, I will never fall for another. 
Never again, I said. 
Yet, here I am, back in the human realm living a mortal life. 
The hunger for a normal life burns inside of me, like a hole I cannot fill. 
An everlasting flame I try to smother with every passing day. 
Because after the world ends and everyone is dead, I will still be here, drowning in   
    my sorrows.
Deep in my Couch
Michael Lee Johnson 
 
Deep in my couch 
of magnetic dust,
I am a bearded old man.
I pull out my last bundle 
of memories beneath
my pillow for review.
What is left, old man,
cry solo in the dark.
Here is a small treasure chest
of crude diamonds, a glimpse 
of white gold, charcoal, 
fingers dipped in black tar.
I am a temple of worship with trinket dreams,
a tea kettle whistling ex-lovers boiling inside.
At dawn, shove them under, let me work.
We are all passengers traveling
on that train of the past—
senses, sins, errors, or omissions
deep in that couch.
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Dillon: Undying
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Undying

Ryles, Ben

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 44 
Number 2 Spring 2022 Article 69 
Spring 5-1-2022 
The Dam Fixer 
Ben Ryles 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Ryles, Ben (2022) "The Dam Fixer," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 44: No. 2, Article 69. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol44/iss2/69 
This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It 
has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For 
more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
The Dam Fixer
Ben Ryles
I work on a dam
And I’m the fixer
That’s what I’ve been told to be
For this wall that holds
A strange elixir
A vast and boundless sea
Why I do it
I’m unaware
It’s just the orders I’ve been given
I mend the holes
On the side that’s bare
But I’m just about to give in
I’m reduced to
Wood and tape
And cracks keep showing face
The cement ran out
Years ago
And a flood will soon take place
Dandelion Droplets On a Quiet Morning,
Allison Klein
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I’m always on
A high alert
Because the ground tends to rumble
And each time it does
Though shaken little
The wall will faster crumble
If the wall
Were to come down
And the substance came pouring out
We’d all be dead
And new people’d rebuild
With more resolution and less doubt
We want that too
But do we?
We don’t know what we’re containing
It could be good
It could be bad
It could not be worth maintaining
It keeps filling
Higher up
On the other side of the wall
The higher it goes
The higher we work
By now we’re twice as tall
I fill the holes
I mend the cracks
But with every memory relapse
The ground will shake
A little more
And it gets closer to collapse
They call me a gatekeeper
I do my best
To keep it closed
I do my best 
But it’s getting tougher
And more cracks are being exposed
It was constructed
Some time ago
And frankly we don’t know why
All the reason
We’ve ever been told
Is that it’s not okay to cry
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The Dam Fixer

Tausz, Anna

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 44 
Number 2 Spring 2022 Article 80 
Spring 5-1-2022 
Winter Walks 
Anna Tausz 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Tausz, Anna (2022) "Winter Walks," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 44: No. 2, Article 80. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol44/iss2/80 
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has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For 
more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
Winter Walks, Anna Tausz
Passage, Shawn Gollnick
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Tausz: Winter Walks
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Winter Walks

Maniar, Jigna

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 44 
Number 2 Spring 2022 Article 85 
Spring 5-1-2022 
Sunrise on the Lake 
Jigna Maniar 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Maniar, Jigna (2022) "Sunrise on the Lake," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 44: No. 2, Article 85. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol44/iss2/85 
This Artwork is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It 
has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For 
more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
Sunflowers Always Look Towards the Sun
Bee Bishop 
     Springs are never warm. I think they’re supposed to be, but according to 
the goosebumps on my legs as my dress fluttered in the wind, I was wrong. 
The night was stale and sour, but you smelled so sweet. Your rose perfume 
had faded greatly since you arrived, but out here on the balcony, I couldn’t 
focus on anything else. My breaths were less oxygen and much more you. 
Your rose perfume, your scented lipstick, just… you. I felt like there was 
no one else in the world, just me and you, both of our dresses fluttering in 
the wind. My heart beat fluttered along with it; the rhythmic pounding of 
anxiety and love bursting in my eardrums was so loud I couldn’t hear you 
speaking. Just saw your lips moving. Closer and closer, as I drowned in 
your perfume wondering if you were going to kiss me.
     “Tell me a fun fact about flowers,” you had asked me.
     It was a very easy question. Say something cool about flowers; I should 
be able to do that, I do run a flower shop after all. But yet, I found myself 
unable to give you an answer, my heart beating in my throat, choking me. 
We stood on the balcony of my new apartment, the chilly night air dancing 
by. A halo of light, the gentle warm glow from the inside lights, bloomed 
Sunrise on the Lake, Jigna Maniar
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Sunrise on the Lake

Faivre, Carolyn

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 45 
Number 1 Fall 2022 Article 25 
Fall 12-1-2022 
Making Art 
Carolyn Faivre 
College of DuPage 
Follow this and additional works at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr 
Recommended Citation 
Faivre, Carolyn (2022) "Making Art," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 45: No. 1, Article 25. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol45/iss1/25 
This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It 
has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For 
more information, please contact orenick@cod.edu. 
Making Art
Carolyn Faivre
In making art 
I connect to spirit; mine and Creator’s. 
I connect to soul; mine and the work coming forward.
In making art 
Mystery is revealed 
in brush stroke, pencil stroke, eraser stroke.
In making art 
the paper bleeds 
with colors of  memories, longings, promises.
In making art 
Lost dreams revealed in the negative spaces, 
Birth a painting of  their own stories.
Artmaking is a patient, persistent practice. 
Except when it isn’t 
And bursts forth with uncontrolled urgency.
Spirit explodes on the canvas, 
Out of  my heart, 
Into the world.
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Making Art

Morris, Wilda

The Prairie Light Review 
Volume 45 
Number 1 Fall 2022 Article 34 
Fall 12-1-2022 
Snippets from My Autobiography 
Wilda Morris 
College of DuPage 
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Recommended Citation 
Morris, Wilda (2022) "Snippets from My Autobiography," The Prairie Light Review: Vol. 45: No. 1, Article 34. 
Available at: https://dc.cod.edu/plr/vol45/iss1/34 
This Selection is brought to you for free and open access by the College Publications at DigitalCommons@COD. It 
has been accepted for inclusion in The Prairie Light Review by an authorized editor of DigitalCommons@COD. For 
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Snippets from My Autobiography
 with a line from Kristin Alberts*
Wilda Morris
I am six.
The wind is my hairbrush;
the sun, my jacket; cool ground
under evergreens, my summer home. 
I am eight.
Nothing can untangle the bleak braid
of  memory; fear is the blanket
on my shoulders. In dreams 
I inhabit a burning house
from which I cannot escape.
I am nineteen.
I comb through textbooks,
arrange facts. Hope is my shawl. 
With no date on Saturday night, 
my dorm room spells loneliness.
I am twenty-four.
A white veil hides my face and hair.
Expectation flows like my gown
from my shoulders to my feet
in their satin high-heel shoes. 
The groom at the altar becomes my home.
I am thirty five,
mothering five active adopted children.
Sometimes I pull out my hair as I try 
to provide them a peaceful, loving home.
I am seventy-two.
The wind again is my hairbrush.
The sunset painting the bay 
is my lavender sweater; memory, 
a bird singing in the cedars. 
I carry pebbles in my pocket.
Among woods and wildflowers I am home.
*The italicized line is from Kristin Alberts, “My Song of  Self,” in Where Water 
Might Be Blue: Poems (Ellison Bay, Wisconsin, Wm Caxton Ltd, 2006), p. 5.
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Morris: Snippets from My Autobiography
Published by DigitalCommons@COD, 2022


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