Here are two poems from her forthcoming collection from Carolina Wren Press.
LIVING ON THE MOUNTAIN
Old trees like old money
smell of richness.
It's not their crowns
that make them regal.
Whether they bow or stand tall,
they do so with a dignity
that can't be bought.
These woods belong to me,
every maple and oak.
How many women do you know
who own a forest?
From my deck, I smell trees
and I am filled with wealth.
Old trees bend. Like women
and like men, they die and fall,
or else they fall and die.
Young ones rise. I love watching
them grow and make their stand.
In memory of my father
who loved to sit on a covered porch
and watch rain, I sit sheltered
and sip coffee on my covered deck
high on Cherry Mountain. Near treetops
in memory of my father, I sing louder
than the downpour that falls inches from me.
"You like my new house?" I trill
above the spill of raindrops.
Mr. Whiskers asleep on my feet
under the wicker seat, wakes.
He thinks my song is for him.
I look deep into gray mist, eye to eye
with thin green leaves of a thousand trees
and sing welcome to white blossoms
on dogwood trees no one planted.
I am singing. I am singing to my father
who loved to sit close to rain.