She was a body falling
while we, with cups of tea
    and evening news, the inevitable

pull toward flannel, considered
       nothing of the possibilities
    of plunging through infinity. Only

       the motion and pivot of the planets
of ourselves, our own mundane
    rotation and quaver.

We drowsed, oblivious,
       as her bright house blazed,
    as with the making of a child,

       fallen godheart, offering of stars.
The moon, though wholly open,
    gave her reign to glow

for those few moments. She was
       an asteroid breaking atmosphere
    at the speed of longing: headlong,

heedless. And didn’t we,
       in the ether of our dreaming,
    desire to burn like that?

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Ronda Broatch is the author of Some Other Eden, (Finishing Line Press, 2005). Her work has recently appeared in Atlanta Review, DMQ Review, and Rhino. Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Ronda is the recipient of the 2005 Kay Snow Poetry Award, and 2006 WPA William Stafford Award. Her chapbook, Woman Emerging, was a finalist with Spire Press, and a full-length manuscript, Rib of New Fruit, is a semi-finalist for the Elixir Press book prize.
E-mail: bearfish at centurytel dot net  

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summer 2007 | kaleidowhirl
books and chapbooks from authors in this issue