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Ann Minoff




Winter

the morning tide captures drifting ice
piles of meaningless resolve
dragging back to the sea
a parade of frozen white

have I turned away from love
again

is it too late

my mother is dying
and like the river ice
shaped by unseen forces
another winter storm
rolls past my window


Unwind

red and yellow leaves unwind
   returning to their roots

after they rise one last time
wrinkled and brown
flapping
blocking traffic
airborne
on my windshield
in my face

unlike my motherís hands
curled inside themselves
shriveled, bony
she sleeps on my chest
   holding on


Open

Iím looking down
between my ribs
a few incandescent memories
that flash intermittently
between radio announcements
and Macyís specials
a continuous play of colorless regrets
     love lost and all that
a space of closed doors




©2014 by Ann Minoff

Ann Minoff graduated from New York University with a degree in philosophy and continued her education at the National College of Chiropractic in Illinois. She received her Doctorate of Chiropractic in 1982. She currently teaches classes on Qigong and Kabbalah. Her work is forthcoming or has been published in The Alembic, Amarillo Bay, Blood Lotus, California Quarterly, The Chaffin Journal, Crack the Spine, The Distillery, Diverse Voices Quarterly, Emprise Review, Forge, Harpur Palate, Hawaii Pacific Review, Jewish Womenís Literary Annual, Licking River Review, The Literary Review, Lullwater Review, Nimrod, Pearl, Porcupine, Quiddity Literary Journal, Sacred Journey: Journal of Fellowship in Prayer, Spoon River Poetry Review, and The Write Room.


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