Maybe, I should pull it out of my ass
the unwritten memoir, poem, verse.
My friend hates winter, would shoot herself in the face, but for her rescue dog, who loves to dance in the snow, the white powder glistening on its nose,
unlike a powder we once patronized.
Begging me to strip off my inner gloom
fall back into the stark white of a blank page
shake off the bad,
spread my wings,
share my somber joy.
Published by
C. S. De Dona
Author, Poet, Photographer, domestic violence survivor, and naturalized immigrant, Cornelia is currently an Arts and Letters member of The Southwest Florida Branch of The National League Of American Pen Women.
Cornelia lived in Kaneohe, Hawaii, for thirty-six years. Also, seven years in the Mid-Hudson Valley of New York. She now resides in North Fort Myers, Florida.
Her poems and photography are published in print, online, and in Rain Bird, a literary and art journal of the University of Hawaii's Windward Community College (2008-2013).
In 2013, Cornelia received Rain Bird's Kolokolea Poetry Prize for her poem, "Speaking French."
In 2016, her chapbook "Hawaiian Time," entered in the National League of American Pen Women's Vinnie Ream contest, was awarded third place in their inaugural multi-discipline category.
View all posts by C. S. De Dona
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