WENDY CALDWELL MALONEY
Click headshot for bio
WHO'S READING YOU?
Who's reading you?
she asked
as though what I wrote
didn’t count
unless someone of significance
was poring over my words
and saying yes
or no
she told me writing would save my life
it is
and it does
just like my brush on a pebbled page
just like the endless colors I see
in every tree
and the patterns of discarded pods, pooled by rains in the street
just like the burgundy beat
of fingertips on a table’s edge
or the golden tone of a voice singing
“like an old friend to save your life”
it stabilizes me
helps me know my feet are under me and my center is sound
Who’s reading me?
I ... am reading me
in every book
in every face
in every sound
in every bone and every perfect movement
and breath-catching pain
I am reading me
as I unfold
on the page
fractions of memories
buoyant and aching
glimmers of sun and
cavernous, hollow emptiness
Life comes at me
gently pummeling
with urgencies and scrawled notes
and when I ‘come to’ —
I troll for joy and
snatch it
as it breaks the surface
and catches the
light
CARRY MY COLOR
let the air blow through me
carry my color
pour it
onto the page
guide my brush
heart thrumming
sound and light
open me
I want to take you by the hand
and show you
what I see
walking
where the live edges are
sea and stones
in endless conversation
sink into
the cool, wet sand
the ebullient ruffle of waves
gratitude
spills onto
our sun-drenched faces
MY FATHER’S DAUGHTER
I am
my father’s daughter
drawn deep into the woods
the silent presence
of moss
skimming through
Canadian waters, the sun touches all pull the sail in
hand to teeth
classical crescendos make
our hearts soar
with the poignance
of life
tears are the vehicle of deepest expression
never a need to hide
our tender hearts from
the world
language
beauty
the soft, rich thrum of guitar
through
emergent gratitude
and tragedy,
we find our way back into
each other’s
lives