Jane Okrasinski

Jane Okrasinski

Finches

Since the finches turned from gold
To brown,
There is less peace for me
In their coming and going--
My gut a reflection
Of their fluttering combat
For a place at the feeder.
Will the light return for me too,
When the finches go back from brown
To gold?

Caught

The lotus is beyond my reach,
Brilliant,
In the cool, blue water.
I am caught,
Tangled,
In the dark, muddy depths.
No peace here.

Depression

Descends like the ceiling in a cave
The passage too small to navigate,
But by belly crawl.
No light.
Too little air.
My knees and hands bleed like a supplicant's,
But no one answers my prayers
For a way out.
I cannot move
Forward or back.
I have no breath to scream.