Lisa Stice is a poet/mother/military spouse. While it is difficult to say where home is, she currently lives in North Carolina with her husband, daughter and dog. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the author of a poetry collection, Uniform (Aldrich Press, 2016). You can find out more about her and her publications at lisastice.wordpress.com and facebook.com/LisaSticePoet.

This Is the Year

the roses will never lose
their pink or drop a petal
to the ground

a permanent home
for hummingbirds and
bees and us

we will open our arms
let sunlight fill the open
spaces in between

welcome each day, familiar
as the last and feel safe
in the knowing

The Other Bird Flew After

what is that sound
coming through the trees
this autumn twilight

sad and far away
like cries of mourning doves
song deep in their chests

* title borrowed from the nursery rhyme “Two Birds”

Dear Federico García Lorca

From my window, I cannot see
them, but I know lonely people
travel this night in darkness.

Are you at their sides? Reciting
verses? Did you stand up
from the spot you fell, simply
brushed the sand from your clothes?

Under moonlight, across sea
and land. Perhaps you heard
my sigh and felt this quiet here.

* Federico García Lorca (1898-1936): Spanish Civil War; author of The Selected Poems of Federico García Lorca (New Directions, 2005)

Dear Kathleen Flenniken

Isn’t it funny how yard sticks measure height,
pencils make hashmarks on a doorjamb,
but whole years live in the empty spaces?
So much is said in the not-saying—and how
those things we can’t see really do hurt us.
We could ride our bike up and down the same
driveway, day after day, our entire childhood,
and never see the uneven spot that could send
us flying if the tire hit it just right, but
it didn’t matter anyway because our moms
healed anything with a Band-Aid and a kiss.

* Kathleen Flenniken (1960- ): The Cold War; author of Plume (University of Washington Press, 2012)