todays poem. Haven

For Mofle-
“…the ones whose homes were destroyed
who were stranded under the sky.”


Fresh spring snow
Cream of wheat


Warm coffee,
hot chocolate
white dollops of fluff on top
brown speckles seeping through.

I did not see
the ones whose homes were destroyed
who were stranded under the sky.

I did not want to see it .
I did not want anyone to see it.


The maple syrup pools
in the crevices,
the sweet steam
sweeter than plaster dust.


The refugees have come here again
from the south.

They say even with the cold
it is warmer and safer here
though the same stars
pierce the heavens each night.

The wood fire softens our home.
The chickadees dance.

I can not grieve.
These were not my losses
hearts listen and imagine the depths .

The birch beacon
at the edge of our field
sings always.



Susan Chandel
March 10, 2009