Poetry: 2020-present

Colleen Keefe

2 min readMar 31, 2021

tree song

Fireflies crisp in air. Dusk tilts this night to pitch black. Trees sing themselves down.

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Bearing Witness

On days like this, it turns dark too early, heat leaching from brick by degrees as night sinks into bone.

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Haiku Triptych

We speak of sorrow as if it is a dark stone, and not the ocean

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The White Pines Remember

I think the trees remember us still the way we used to hurry along mossy trails,

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The Fall

In the early autumn days of that year we would walk out of our house onto a street that sloped down to Cresheim Creek…

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The Edges of Us

The work of writing comes hard, and most days I simply don’t try.

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The Forest

I like to write about small things:

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The Arrivals Gate

We began in sweat and sunlight, sapling leaves and lips, apples and blood oranges.

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The Ribcage and the Heart

This trail winding down these branches and their white blossoms opening

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River Song

when the sky is shorn to a pale grey bruise blunted by a summer rain,

colleenhkeefe.medium.com

The Valley

As if to say yes to the cinched tight cleft of this night

colleenhkeefe.medium.com

Our Names

They come into this world, all of them, together. A single name lofted on the salt air of their breath.

colleenhkeefe.medium.com

Am / Am Not

This poem has many endings. This poem lays its armor on the bathroom floor.

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The Salt

My salt tongue remembers her in summer, swimming through heat.

colleenhkeefe.medium.com

Six Haiku, Almost

I walk down into Our forest, the breath of pines Crisp over the snow

colleenhkeefe.medium.com

Gathering The Things We Need

This poem’s first few lines are a shot in full-on dark seeking some target

colleenhkeefe.medium.com

Gerald’s House

There many ways to return. Once in winter you descended through scudding clouds

colleenhkeefe.medium.com

Midwest

will you still be here will the car idle outside still waiting for me

colleenhkeefe.medium.com

Poetry: 2020-present

tree song

Fireflies crisp in air. Dusk tilts this night to pitch black. Trees sing themselves down.

Bearing Witness

On days like this, it turns dark too early, heat leaching from brick by degrees as night sinks into bone.

Haiku Triptych

We speak of sorrow as if it is a dark stone, and not the ocean

The White Pines Remember

I think the trees remember us still the way we used to hurry along mossy trails,

The Fall

In the early autumn days of that year we would walk out of our house onto a street that sloped down to Cresheim Creek…

The Edges of Us

The work of writing comes hard, and most days I simply don’t try.

The Forest

I like to write about small things:

The Arrivals Gate

We began in sweat and sunlight, sapling leaves and lips, apples and blood oranges.

The Ribcage and the Heart

This trail winding down these branches and their white blossoms opening

River Song

when the sky is shorn to a pale grey bruise blunted by a summer rain,

The Valley

As if to say yes to the cinched tight cleft of this night

Our Names

They come into this world, all of them, together. A single name lofted on the salt air of their breath.

Am / Am Not

This poem has many endings. This poem lays its armor on the bathroom floor.

The Salt

My salt tongue remembers her in summer, swimming through heat.

Six Haiku, Almost

I walk down into Our forest, the breath of pines Crisp over the snow

Gathering The Things We Need

This poem’s first few lines are a shot in full-on dark seeking some target

Gerald’s House

There many ways to return. Once in winter you descended through scudding clouds

Midwest

will you still be here will the car idle outside still waiting for me

Written by Colleen Keefe