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About This House
by Sondra Ball

My bed is littered
with old poetry books
and sheets of half written poems.
I laze on a blanket,
joyfully watching a man
with brown hair and brown eyes
playing a harmonica,
lost in his own music,
not noticing my love.
 






Women on the Lawn
by Sondra Ball
 
The women who had been girls long, long ago
sat together on the lawn beside the river,
sat together beside the blooming roses,
and spoke of the snow upon their heads.

“It is only an image in a mirror,” one said.
And another nodded very slowly.
“On the other side, we are forever dancing
with rose tiaras in our long brown hair.”
 



First published in Autumn Leaves

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