"All Miracle"
A Four Volume Series of Poetry
Elizabeth Rooney

Here to


Storing September

You ask me what I did today.
I could pretend and say,
"I don't remember."
But, no, I'll tell you what I did today --
I stored September.
Sat in the sun and let the sun sink in,
Let all the warmth of it caress my skin.
When winter comes, my skin will still remember
The day I stored September.
And then my eyes --
I filled them with the deepest, bluest skies
And all the traceries of wasps and butterflies.
When winter comes, my eyes will still remember
The day they stored September.
And there was cricket song to fill my ears!
And the taste of grapes
And the deep purple of them!
And asters, like small clumps of sky...
You know how much I love them.
That's what I did today
And I know why.
Just simply for the love of it,
I stored September.


School Bus

The bright yellow box full of children
Moves through the morning
Gathering in the smiles,
The warm hands.
Each carries our love
Wrapped in wax paper,
Carefully hoarded till noon.
How little we know
Of the mystery dwelling within them,
Of what is beginning to grow.
Know only that we must send them
Out to wait by the mail box,
Up the steps into the bus --
Trusting life's unpredictable afternoon
To bring them back to us.

Wild Geese

Barking and calling courage to each other,
The singing skein sweeps south across the sky.
We hear their legendary cry
Saying goodbye to summer swamps and sweetness.
They know some ancient mystery of weather,
Of daring and of caring for each other,
Which we have lost.
Shrouded in sheets and city streets,
Our stifled hearts half waken at their sound.
Something within us trembles, flaps its wings,
Falls back against the ground.
We dress for breakfast, start the daily round
And wonder, why we must know only fenced yards,
And shelled corn, until we die?



Why did you die in autumn,
The first frost
Covering you
And covering my heart?
I need your warmth, my love!
The trees drop sadness.
I am a barren branch
Against a bitter sky.
Why did you die?