Ancestor Twin
My twin smiles in the lake’s surface,
a mirror where a feisty kitten
peeks behind to find the intruder
speedy to sprint around the corner
no matter how fast one looks.
I duck down to shrink my target,
but as I sneak a look over the weeds,
I am visible again and again
like a prairie dog in a hole
wondering if an eagle still soars.
A trout breaches the façade
into shattering ripples
scattering ashore to dissipate
among the weeds tickling, luring
a moment in disturbance.
My twin smears a blur,
but if I squint, I see
the resemblance in the old photo
of an ancestor cousin
staring into the camera.
Sand Everyone
I feel like sand at the beach
wearing everyone’s footsteps
coming, going against
my grains depressed
by their passings.
I can’t wait for them to leave
taking all their disruptive shovels,
stabbing umbrella poles,
sand castle tumors.
I can’t wait for wind
and surf to rid me
of their ravage
so I can greet
the sunrise pure.
Diane Webster‘s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life, nature or an overheard phrase and to write. Diane enjoys the challenge of transforming images into words to fit her poems. Her work has appeared in El Portal, North Dakota Quarterly, Eunoia Review and other literary magazines. She also had a micro-chap published by Origami Poetry Press.
Sparks of Calliope 