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Lexington Poetry Month
I Am Not a Stanza
article by
Shelda Hale

a room with a balcony.
I won’t be bounded
within a ceiling, floor, four walls,

I imagine a French door
glide over Italian tile       lean
over the rail and know
the world is listening.

I trill words, notes no bird
has ever dreamed
dance around potted pansies
tickle the arborvitae.

Pausing when the hummingbird
preens on the wet holly leaf, shiny
as a mirror, I reach for its red
throat, pulsing. 

7 responses to “I Am Not a Stanza”

  1. michelle johnson says:

    this is terrific… have a great day…

  2. love it Shelda, the diction is elevated enough to do the mood justice but does not draw attention to itself, the variation in tempo, accent, and line length, all suit the inclusive ambiguity of the ending.

  3. Rae Cobbs says:

    What they said. Scary poem, it’s so good!

  4. Kathleen Gregg says:

    Surreal and evocative! Love the questions provoked by the last line!

  5. Melva Sue Priddy says:

    And I reach for the hummingbird’s red throat before I know what I’m doing!

  6. Jim Lally says:

    four room that end with a Pulsing

  7. Jim Lally says:

    “rooms” that is

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