I fold myself into silence,
I wax and wane in desire —
that never comes to
fruition; mother taught
me never to make waves.
I watch all the lovers as
they frolic upon the
beaches and in the woods —
taking my dreams with
them, leaving me stripped
bare of my leaves like an
autumn tree, and I let them —
I wish I were braver, that
I’d steal my moments back;
but I’m too shy to be an
ocean, so I sit back and
drink in champagne clouds;
lilt my loneliness to trees —
my heart burns with passion
my lips will never express.
___
Linda M. Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh, but she was raised in the rural town of Conneautville. She attended and graduated from Edinboro University of Pennsylvania with a degree in English-Literature in 2009. Her poetry, articles, reviews, and short stories have appeared in several journals online and in print.
Linda M. Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh, but she was raised in the rural town of Conneautville. She attended and graduated from Edinboro University of Pennsylvania with a degree in English-Literature in 2009. Her poetry, articles, reviews, and short stories have appeared in several journals online and in print.