Michelle Stoll lives in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, USA. She is a graduate of the University of Central Arkansas and her poetry and nonfiction have been published in Moxie, Sage Woman, Crosswind and the Glasgow Review.

Crossing Over

My paddle goes deep and
sweeps back emerald river.

Memories wave like underwater grasses
as I pass. Deeper still

I plunge, push late-day water aside,
glide past heron, trout and damselfly
to the island on the Otherside.

Keel kisses mud where water comforts earth;
I disembark and step across

the fringe of hidden and beheld,
wait to hear some sigh from that new world of yours

where cares become shoes
left empty at the door.

…All is silence, save the wind
…All is water, save my muddy feet.

Petition

This violet mark on my hand
is proof of the Divine, a gift
given by an injured hawk
holding on to my invulnerable glove,
ambitious to stay upright
alive.

She watches me with a hunter’s eye;
fear, fury and dominion
measure me.
She is the patient, the pupil am I;
a witness to tremendous
existence.

Life outweighs its clay,
cannot be valued based on species, prey or evolution,
is broken and glorious from the start,
racing to its finale, beating its wings
breathing deep the desire for
one more
day.

No top-of-the-chain human ever fought so hard to live
as a stitched-up, barely-feathered cardinal,
as a dog-mauled, plastered-up turtle,
as this broken-winged hawk cleaving to my fist
convincing me
She is
God.

More astounding than a burning bush,
Her presence. More magnificent than angelic choirs,
Her holy cries. More transcendent than
a mystic’s prayer, Her
silence.

God of feathers, blood and talons
God of swiftness, stormy skies and empyreal sight
Convict me
Save me
from my small, self-stained world.