fortune, like the dove released
on the seventh day and not returning,
a promise of rains ceasing, skies clearing.
The olive branch leafing out in fullness
while steam swirls from sun-warmed earth.
That day I turned seven I sat
on the lowest branch of the weeping willow
in the backyard, raindrops sprinkled
from slender leaves above
as if I was the congregation
receiving special asperges.
He found me there,
familiar, warm smile leading
the way to this nothingness
that has filled me since
his whispers, touch.
Jennifer Cherry began writing in journals when she was a child. Many days were spent outside where the oak and maple trees, the alfalfa fields, and the creeks whispered their secrets to her, giving her many ideas for stories and poems. Her love for reading and writing guided her to receiving an MA in English. For the past 25 years, she has shared her passion for reading and writing with first year college students.