There is time to grow old by Julia Klatt Singer

There is time to grow old
For Harold

There is time to grow old. And we take it. Walk gently through the world; today made over with new falling snow. Everyone needs a partner, and you say I want to be yours. You tell me you love birds. How they sing and make a bush sing too. You tell me about Martha, your cat, who got too old and died. Let’s not get too old you say. Let’s not. You tell me you love snow, catching it on your tongue. You tell me you love winter because it lets us walk on water, lets us become angels. We hold hands. Even through our mittens, we feel the warmth of each other’s palm. We walk side by side, into the snow, into the world transforming.

by Julia Klatt Singer

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Editor’s Note: The gentle repetition in this poem soothes the reader as the idea of love and hope and a “world transforming” slowly grows possible.

Intimacies, Number 18 by Julia Klatt Singer

Intimacies, Number 18

We set off into the woods,
never a glance back.
Nothing in our pockets
but the stones and pinecones
we find along the way—
the occasional treasure
of bone and eggshell, moss
and feather. We knew the story
of Hansel and Gretel.
The old woman’s house—
much like our grandmother’s
we’ve just left
for these woods.
Deeper in until the sunlight
struggles to find us.
Deeper in until the sound
of the dead trees we’ve kicked down
fall silent. Deeper in
until neither of us knows
how long or how far
we’ve gone. The hunger
in our bellies, the light
now slant, we turn
let the panic quicken
our pace. Let the trees
usher us out.
They never scold us.
Lay us a path
of leaves and twigs
roots and soft needles.
Lead us to the sounds
of the road, the short walk
back, the smoke from the chimney
reaching like a long arm, fingers beckoning.
Entering the house (how contained it feels)
we smell like trees, like air;
cool and free and endless.

by Julia Klatt Singer

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Editor’s Note: This narrative poem deftly captures both the folly and risk of youth, and the delicious freedom of it, leaving the reader yearning for more at the end.

Reasons to Run by Julia Klatt Singer

Reasons to Run

In the east a planet hangs low in the sky,
A silver apple ready to be plucked.

Last week it was robins. This week
Squirrels—how long since I’ve seen a rabbit?

The lake mirrors the slate blue sky.

And what do I mirror?

Am heartbeat, am steady, am certain
That no one can see me now

Dancing as I run to Aretha
Like the sweet morning dew

I took one look at you,
And it was plain to see

you were my destiny… you, still
and asleep and dreaming; fleet foxes,

a star in your mouth, moonlight
in your bed.

by Julia Klatt Singer

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Editor’s Note: The surreal imagery in this poem beautifully mirrors the way the mind wanders while running, while also allowing the reader a glimpse into the life of the speaker.

The blue and temperate world by Julia Klatt Singer

The blue and temperate world

We live in the marginalia;
every day further from the center of things, more of a scribbled note,
a smudge, worn and soft as graphite.

I watch as the goldfinches,
he and she, back and hungry, visit the feeder three times over lunch.

The wind chimes now hang from a branch of the Elm,
some industrious squirrel stole from the porch and positioned there.

Running, in the early morning, the rabbits look at me like the interloper that I am.
I whisper don’t move, I’m already gone.

I am trying to learn Finnish. Tarjosi, tanaan—to offer, today.

And like yesterday and tomorrow all I have for you
is this poem,

that I plant your body in,
like the sky is a garden
made of stars.

by Julia Klatt Singer

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/julia.k.singer/

Editor’s Note: The narrative of this poem is bookended between two brilliant images, forcing the reader to grapple with the idea that reality is mostly created (and often startling).

From the archives – Tell Me Again by Julia Klatt Singer

tell me again

about the man
with the pear tree
who lost his wife
after fifty-six years of marriage
and how that tree doesn’t know when enough is enough
that last August
he had to prop the poor thing’s branches up
with two-by-fours
it was so laden with fruit.
He gave you a bagful of those pears
and their scent filled the car
even with the windows rolled down.

from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, October 26, 2015 — by Julia Klatt Singer

Painting by Julia Klatt Singer

From the archives – tell me again by Julia Klatt Singer

tell me again Singer

tell me again

about the man
with the pear tree
who lost his wife
after fifty-six years of marriage
and how that tree doesn’t know when enough is enough
that last August
he had to prop the poor thing’s branches up
with two-by-fours
it was so laden with fruit.
He gave you a bagful of those pears
and their scent filled the car
even with the windows rolled down.

from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, October 26, 2015 — by Julia Klatt Singer

Painting by Julia Klatt Singer

tell me again by Julia Klatt Singer

tell me again Singer

tell me again

about the man
with the pear tree
who lost his wife
after fifty-six years of marriage
and how that tree doesn’t know when enough is enough
that last August
he had to prop the poor thing’s branches up
with two-by-fours
it was so laden with fruit.
He gave you a bagful of those pears
and their scent filled the car
even with the windows rolled down.

by Julia Klatt Singer

Editor’s Note: This ekphrastic poem handles grief with a sideways feint—spoken of between the lines, with fruit and movement.

Painting by Julia Klatt Singer

From the archives – El Corazon — Julia Klatt Singer

El Corazon

I will not talk about silence
how in the absence of sound
hollows are formed, small graves
to bury each thought,
every desire.

I will not talk about the moon
how she curls up in the night sky
tugs at the oceans within me,
spills light upon dark avenues.

I will not talk about love, how
it is as clear & fragile
as a dragonfly’s wings, that when
it lands, it leaves its mark, dusty
with pollen.

Instead I will tell you
that it looks like it might snow,
and that when I smell smoke
I want to kiss your hands.

from Autumn Sky Poetry 19 — by Julia Klatt Singer

Painting by Julia Klatt Singer