Branches in November

I would say I am
bare branches stark
against a silver sky
exposed bricks
crisp brown leaves
but 45, at most,
is merely middle August,
yet I anticipate
that hard-earned beauty
standing proud and stripped
of all green youth…
Saw an angel yesterday
with twigs for wings
a “Woodland Angel” fit
to crown a Christmas tree.
I’d like to grow my own
long branches
expand myself
exhale like morning frost
I will await then
Winter folding me
in deep December snow.

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Skeleton Poem

Reconnected
to your voice
but there’s this plague
and long light years
of twisted subway tracks
between our signal reach
Out here, all
black and cold expanse
I’ve stripped down
to my ugliness
torn off my skins
unstuck the muscle from
my stubborn bones
that flash so white
in starlight
like a quasar of my need
doubt runs across
my skeleton like an
electric current
tears spark against
with jealousy, yes
I know better
I know better
I know better
no comfort to
these hapless
strings of bone
twitching
in our midnight
to your sad voice
on the phone.

---

Heather Lee Rogers compulsively tells stories as a writer and an actor in NYC.  Her poems have recently appeared in the following printed and online publications: The Rat’s Ass Review, Harbinger Asylum, Here Comes Everyone (UK), Leopardskin & Limes, El Portal, S/Tick, Adanna Literary Journal, Jersey Devil Press, Eunoia Review, Headline Poetry, and Indolent Books, etc.. More of her work can be read at heatherleerogerspoetry.com .