Three Poems by Sally Seck

Kindling

I went out to split some kindling,

the moon cold covered in clouds,

the softest lull of falling,

all a dulling glow—and the

coyotes crying and one I can hear,

so nearby and so alone.

Separated in the snow,

split apart quick and clean,

and lighter than you expected.

This Sunrise like Yesterday’s

The sun rises for hours,

cold light slipping back 

east across the valley.

First the glow, dim in the flank of the mountain,

the dawn-dark of day.

Light on the eastern slope of the 

San Juans, cold yellows pooling on

the valley floor. 

Then the rays reaching

over the peaks, notch by

notch, tangible gold and breaking. 

This sunrise

not so very unique or not necessarily

better than other sunrises

but flushed in its entirety,

in its detail and wholeness,

mine, and now. 

Snowmelt

Of sun shining clear in the snow,

of soft dirt slipping underneath,

cut up the path and away from

the pool of shadows. Scrambling

above and over, the blue running

clear, the late-season aspen coins

brittle and brown, the handfuls

of snow melting dry in my cheeks

as the snow into the ground.

The water bubbling under in one

current vein, the rest frozen

solid white through and through.

Just the one little crack forming

at the surface, just one little

breath alone in all this air.

About Sally Seck
She/Her/Hers

Sally Jane Seck is a mountain poet. She has an MFA from the Kerouac School. She's been a community college professor, she's a marketer, a mom, and a host of the annual Crestone Poetry Festival, a profoundly magical weekend in Southern Colorado.

mountainpoems.com
Instagram: @sally.seck
Twitter: @seck_sally

Crestone Poetry Festival (annual February event): https://www.poemfest.com/