Lunacy The golden sphere haunts the night, Inspiring poets and wiccans alike. Its alien face hangs in the blackness Seeing all and saying nothing. Some dread this nocturnal showoff As an omen of evil things to come, So it subtly sinks in over the month Like a thief creeping towards its prey. Then swelling with self-importance In its role as the midnight sun, It causes bashful stars to recoil As its light obliterates the universe.
~ Mary Lou Sawan
Nosotros Que Suspiran We wake up, arms empty. He rolls over in the middle of the night, subconsciously reaching out for me. I sequester myself to half the bed, forgetting he doesn’t occupy the other side— only pillows and static air. When sleep wears off, we remember too slowly that we’re alone. We roll over, expecting to find each other— instead, unearthing cold sheets and dead dreams.
Mustang Island, February, 2013 In bulbous profusion The sea lily Stretches along sun-baked sands As far as pelicans glide, In contours Left by tide And gentle wave. They conjure habitations unimaginable Where flowers On exotic isles Bloom, Rich in colors Pink, fuchsia, rose, And nestled among birds Green, red, and purple. Each bringing Enchantment To a people Fashioned as we In grace By Grace.
~Vivian P. Worrell
~ Nikita Hernandez
Spring 2014 Volume 2, Issue 1
A compilation of the Fredericksburg Literary and Art Review, Volumes 1 and 2 (2013-2014)