She’d said she would shoot herself in the face
except for the dog
that lost weight that winter
because he loved to dance in the snow,
the white powder glistening
on his wet nose, Shepherd’s tail, dull fur.
I tried to imagine the depth.
Although I couldn’t relate
not like that, but
I sensed that it was time
to let go, to
stop feeling like the world sat on my chest
like it was all on me
so, I thanked her but took another path.
I’d start fresh
lay back
outstretched
into the blank page
sweep my arms and legs
out and back,
to my fragile wings
declare my somber joy.
It was a new beginning.
The salt and the ice pick would come later.
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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