Friday, April 1, 2022




Basking in the Winter's sun

amid holly, moss, and faded fronds,

atop weary grass now drooped and long,

a wild pup darts across the path,

his smile broad; his bark a laugh.

The nearby squirrels take to the trees,

although the wolf is watching me.

When fallen twigs snap beneath my feet,

he runs into the forest deep.

I watch draped in golden beams

grateful for what each season brings.

More grateful still for All That Is,

to be born, live, love, and give.


Lost Tribe

My crib was a plastic laundry basket.

In it, I was swaddled,

tucked into our story.

Mother layered it like sediment,

rich as the reservation’s cliffs

I called home.

In time, I’d fall to the stones below,

a kite cut from its tether.

My heritage, drowned in the gene pool

My memories altered

My identity, my story,

taken by a sudden light,

a darkroom door opened

turning partially developed images white.



Sorrow is a road of nails

walked barefoot over miles of hills

Grief, a different kind of thief,

walks a path without relief.

Hope’s healing is a peaceful dove

gentle feathers rise above,

flapping-wings on course for love.

Fly beyond all points of pain

surpass the clouds dark with rain;

sweet friend, you’ll know joy again;

your suffering has a date to end.

In freedom, you’ll help all below

still weeping on the bitter road.

For others, you’ll recount your flight,

restore in them their beauty bright.

Remember always the bluest sky

it can defeat the darkest night.




KELLE GRACE GADDIS is the author of two books My Myths published (Yellow Chair Review) and When I’m Not Myself (Cyberwit). Her work has appeared in Blaze VOX, Chicken Soup For The Soul, Rhetoric Askew, Dispatches Editions, Vending Machine Press, Entropy, DoveTales, and elsewhere. She was a 4Culture "Poetry on the Buses" winner in 2015 and 2018, and a National Fiction War prize winner in 2020.


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