Laura Rodley, an accomplished author, showcases her literary prowess through her latest works. Among her notable publications are “Left at Normal” by Big Table Press and “Counter Point” by Prolific Press. In addition, Rodley’s creative flair extends to “Ribbons and Moths, Poems for Children” published by Kelsay Books. With a captivating writing style, she delves into various themes, captivating audiences of all ages. Her ability to craft engaging narratives and evoke emotions resonates with readers worldwide. Rodley’s dedication to the craft is evident in her diverse body of work, cementing her status as a respected voice in contemporary literature.

Cinnamon Sugar

Green sparkles, kaleidoscopes
I reach for, sweet upon my tongue,
my lips kissing the ground,

rubbing away dry dirt searching
for bits of grain, its molasses
a liniment to my throat,

how I reach for the sound of her voice,
hear her talking through window glass,
listen for the hinges suctioning open

the door as she steps out. I nicker.
She calls my name, drops
the grain smelling so sweet

even she wants to taste it.
As the grain falls, light sparkles
rainbows of color, red, blue, green,

in the lens of my eyes refracting
light, watching her walk away

a moving sunbeam dressed
in waving rays of blue jeans and amber shirt.

Touchstones

Two haflingers Mitchell and Madison,
one ton each of caramel honed tension,
hooves big as soup plates, muzzles bristly,
nuzzle my chin when I open the stall, free
-ing them for training session with harness,
backing up to the wagon, such finesse
to guide two tons of power, willingness
to stand, patience to surge control, no guess-
work allowed, communication the key
to urge them back, how to hook harness, free
my neck underneath the reins, double-check
their gear, withhold fear if any, fleck
their mane over the harness loop, then step
into wagon seat, in sync for joyous trek.

The Divinity of Chocolate

I’m doing something bad, she cooed,
pulling a honey coated chocolate bar
from the shelf, and then, another one,

the chocolate the deep dark feathers
of the cliff swallows
she had encouraged to High Ledges

with puddles and white down;
couldn’t the milk chocolate be
the scattered pebbles at the puddles’ edge?

And the crystallized caramel,
the specks of buff on their underbelly
as the cliff swallow darts in,

sewing the rocks of the cliff together,
and dark chocolate, the curved head
of the barn swallow

she’s noticed has vanished,
but she’s nourishing them back,
encouraging farmers to keep barn doors open

so the blue of their darting into the night
from dusk remains balms to tired eyes
much as the sweet snap

of the chocolate bars revive cheer,
as she outlines the ledges
where the cliff swallows have returned to nest,

as she draws the lines of the soaring wings
of the barn swallow, chocolate edging the night sky,
their forked tails divining sweet air,

the welcoming of a new home,
the savoring of dark chocolate:
there can be no substitute.