Beate Sigriddaughter – two poems

A Better Silence

There is a better silence. This,
like a secret, I would like to keep

unchanged. Drops glisten
on a blade of grass, a bird
high in the tree, first opening
its throat, then closing it again
in the chapel of new dawn,
to save its song for later.

Your eyes are open. And my heart
is filled with darklight flickering.
History’s beguiling whisper falls
away, the future is forgotten,
and the world sleeps naked,
innocently dreaming of itself,
the silk of skin, the hush of sun
on wood and earth
and you.


Lord of Lizards

When I am in danger
of forgetting the beauty
of it all, I look at the fence
where I once spotted
a lizard in the sun, quite large,
with turquoise belly skin,
and, on second look,
trapped in fine wire,
unable to move.

We trembled
as you slowly cut mesh
around the tiny claws,
the scaly neck, the limbs.
It took a long time.
We didn’t expect the lizard
to live. Still,
you carried it
into the shade.

The lizard did not move.
We tried to feed it water
when suddenly,
faster than rain
it was already way
across the courtyard,
over the fence. Goodbye.
Never have I loved
anything running away
so much in my life.

If there were anything
to forgive—there wasn’t—
I would have forgiven
you then.


Beate Sigriddaughter lives and writes in New Mexico, the Land of Enchantment, USA. Her work has received four Pushcart Prize nominations and won four poetry awards. In 2015 ELJ Publications published her novel, Audrey: A Book of Love. www.sigriddaughter.com

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