Ellen White Rook is a poet and teacher of contemplative arts residing in Albany, NY and South Portland, Maine. She offers writing workshops and leads Sit, Walk,  Write retreats that merge meditation, movement, and writing. She also teaches ikebana, Japanese flower arranging. Ellen is a graduate of the Master of Fine Arts program at Lindenwood University. Her work has been published in New Verse News, Red Rock Review, Black Fork Review, New Note Poetry, Trolley Literary Journal, and more. In 2021, two of her poems were nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Read more of her work at ellenwhiterook.com.

Suspended

                          this is the time of yearwhen I’m a root-wrapped stone dull under weeks-old snowas more falls in slanted lines that layer softorderly ashespalea poor exchange for light
                (the empty sun                 forgot to rise                 and the morning cardinal                 at the feeder was black                  as a crow)
red a memory of blood 
greenrequires transpiration thaw
                approaching death or just the endall shapesstill wanting to be born again into this life
                (animal                vegetable                mineral)
sky frozenunder footstone wishing for sap sap wishing for heartwood

On waking						

the oracle leavesfootprints in water that turn to icea winter palacethat sieves the sun
                 inside                 I dream of swimming                 in a summer pond
words spoken hangin mythsknife-silver light sits on murky waternot a reflection but the place between object and impressionat the edge 
                 in reeds                 the heron stands                 rises out of itself                 all stillness                 ready to strike
there is evidence I am here awakethat I have been movingspeakingsometimes listeninga lined facebones that have lost their bonenessdust whispered into clouds
                  the water I slip into is neither hot nor cold                  alive with frogs and weeds and slim gray fish                  I am noiseless as a faraway stone
truth echoes the heron’s cryone slender leg bentabout to breathediveabout to killthe seam betweenwaking and dreamingunspeakable

                 the pond perfumes my hair

Ellen White Rook

Suspended

On waking

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