Hope
After viewing George Frederic Watts painting, Hope
The coldness of the ground seeps through
the thin garment that forms the measure between
the earth and my skin.
My hands grip the smoothness of the grain
recoiling from the
sting of the snapping strings.
They invented new notes in their brokenness.
Only one remains, stretched beyond.
There is still warmth on my face.
I know I’d play the last ray of starlight for You.
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Walking on Water
Strains of a foreign tongue in the air
I heard them, below deck, singing,
answering other humpback song.
You ask me to have the faith
to step out of the ship,
walk to you on the water.
The ship, lying in shards upon the shore
ribs sticking up from the shallows
My ankles ringed in ash and salt
reluctant, sandy steps away from all I knew.
It is so hard to move forward,
move towards you on this dry,
unfamiliar land. My mother so far away,
yet close as inhale as I breathe in
my arm, her scent.
And yet you call, you call, you call
like the whales, across a world of water.
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Linda Trott Dickman is an award-winning poet and author of four chapbooks. Her work has been featured in local, international and online anthologies. She is the coordinator of poetry for the Northport Arts Coalition. She teaches at the Walt Whitman Birthplace, the local Historical Society and leads a poetry workshop at Samantha’s Li’l Bit O’ Heaven coffee house.
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Stone Poetry Quarterly 