Two Poems, Ginna Wilkerson

Light/Woman

Hint of a Metropolis dweller, light-pole-tip woman,

slate grey in the late afternoon.

In the night her face shines, 

framed by smooth metal tresses.

Nobody knows her, no body supports her – 

slim metal figure, sidewalk to sky.

Deep-cast sun of winter yellow is steam from a building basement -

backdrop for her passive face.

Sturdy glass to withstand wind, hair/hood for shelter,

otherwise nakedly exposed.

Veiled without veil now, and then,

loneliness seeping into the concrete.

Only-imagined view brightens the light, sometimes -

her eyes see the dark and the glow.

Torn: a photograph

Your accusatory wedding gown lurks in my closet

calling up my loser’s excuses, my shadow justification

for the death of it all.         Our last time 

together my accidental striped shirt

accused you in turn, volleying back my pain when

the final chance was jaggedly torn apart.

Your abandoned image in a photograph, held 

in a trembling hand, seen with vacant eyes,

reaching back for an autographed memory…

Are you offering someone new your grudging affection?

Or did you lose your feminine path like a child’s lunch

left on the bus?    

Ginna Wilkerson has a Ph.D. in English from the University of Aberdeen. She has published two poetry collections and a YA novel, recently exploring visual art as an extension of the same creative process.