Dear Whispers’ Readers,
It is a gift to travel back into our Whispers’ archives, and savor the wonderful poetry within its pages. The unique imagery in the first line of Mary Jo Balistreri’s “Christmas Morning” drew me in—then the brewing coffee clinched it. I hope you don’t mind a little humor that does carry a bit of truth. Mary Jo weaves present and past, flowing so naturally that one almost misses it until the last simile carries the essential message. This poem was originally published December 21, 2015. Congratulations Mary Jo! Thank you being a candle at Whispers and in the poetry community at large.
Karen O’Leary—Whispers’ Editor
In the pale glint of dawn, a hawk darts
across the marsh. I wash dishes from last night’s supper.
Coffee gurgles, filling the glass carafe.
Alone at this hour, husband and children still asleep,
I breathe in peace—my hands deep in warm suds,
china and silver soaking amidst the bursts of bubbles,
their reflections tinged pink.
Outside a streak of mauve swirls and widens
over the pond, feathery as angel wings
on childhood holy cards. The sun paints
peach hibiscus, dusty blue asters, chrysanthemums,
yellow and spiky—all sprouting from the dark
of December like the star that once glowed
By Mary Jo Balistreri