Issue 8
September 2001
Marci Rae Johnson
Marci Rae Johnson lives in Wheaton, Illinois with her husband and new baby. She's currently working on a science fiction novel and a series of poetry about childhood memories, of which these poems are a part. She has most recently been published in Another Sun and ProCreation. Marci has a Master's degree in Theological Studies from Wheaton College, and works as the Webmaster for Christianity and the Arts magazine.
by Lamplight
The clouds shift,
shades of gray in
a patchwork sky and
rain slips through
the seams, drips down
my face
at the window
a book open in
my lap,
behind
a yellow lamp leans
its head against
mine, warms these
words on the page
until they blur
into sleep.
First Day of School
Morning slants between
these wooden slats,
breaking shadows into
light patterns peeling on
a blue-gray porch.
In the corners, the cool
night air still clings
like cobwebs, wakens
to a slow warmth
beyond the rail,
and tickles strings
on bare knees, summer
skinned along a sidewalk
leading to distraction
leaving now,
sandbox covered,
skeleton swingset singing
in the wind, and mother
wandering between windows,
I wish that I were home.
Enchantment
Water captured by a ring of rocks all
sunlit green in a jungle of ferns and
mottled shade, wind breathing slow in
ancient silence at the pond where
a stone boy plays, draped
in moss and old ivy.
A sudden shift of wind, he
awakens -- bows when I pass by
and I nod my head in reply
flowers trailing from a crown
down my face like
many-colored tears.
Expectation
In this moment
summer waiting
for fall, the sun
holds its breath
cheeks puffed shades
in yellow to red
bursting beach ball
hanging here
between two
buildings,
canvas on a
blue sky sea.