At a Window in the Woods (Norcroft)
Sharon Chmielarz

A million dollar rocker, and I’ve just landed plump in its lap,
the most comfortable one I’ve ever sat in, Goldilock’s
cushion, not too hard, not too soft, green-striped, that’s
irrelevant, more to the point, the white wicker arms,
wider than normal. The left has a sidepocket, for things
you want to keep from the other world; for me,
paper, pen and book. And on the chair’s other arm,
sits my companion for the evening, a cup of tea.
You could have a radio though who’d want noise
when you can rock and listen to the waves
crashing on the shore below, and in the rain, watch
the moss fuzz up the north side of old birch.
Over the rocker, a light for reading and bringing out
the young lights still left in your hair. Ah, this chair!
This movement, rocking into dreams. I could
take off in its capsule and never, never return
to pedestrian rockers in pedestrian towns.

Fire and Water (Norcroft)
Sharon Chmielarz

Inside, the fire crackles.
Outside, waves crash.
Fire and water, and in between
this house of dark heart,
dark blood.
She’s free.
Pain and beauty in one searing
thought.
How long can anyone sit,
writing at a desk?
“Like an alkie,” he’d said, “you’re like an alkie,
after that great one, the one that’ll fix
every emptiness in your life.”
Open. She is open.
His might not be the answer.
Fire burns down.
Waves take the rocks,
those patient beings,
back to phrases, clear enough
to be understood 20,000 years later.
Who would expect the fire
to wash the rocks, or waves to
burn out all the darkness in a house?

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