by Lorraine Ferra
Evening and new snow
falling in the yard.
The cat sits motionless
at the window, a white star
on her chest, the moon
glazing the hump of her back.
She waits for the waxwings
that plundered the crab apple
heavy now with falling light,
its few silver tongues
hanging in the cold air.
Watching, I know
there are things that fall
wordlessly as the weariness
of this December day,
or the way dusk leans
over my shoulder, a reparation
as it turns toward the night.
The cat sleeps. Snow falls
and falls through my face
in the glass. I lose my eyes
in a thicket of small wet flakes.
Lorraine Ferra has lived in Port Townsend for thirty-two years. She has worked extensively as a poet-in-residence in many state arts programs across the country.
She has published two chapbooks, and her recent full-length collection, “Between Darkness & Trust,” published by MoonPath Press, was a finalist for the 2019 Washington State Book Award.