Three Poems by Nolcha Fox

 

Leaves are lace

 

shadows through windows,

leaving me a shutter

unhinged from time,

from body,

etched more vividly

into memory 

than my own face.

A leave of absence

from permanence,

I belong nowhere

but to leaves.

 

Miss Bunny

 

scampered out

the open door,

an echo

whooshing through

the undergrowth.

What is celery

compared to

calls of other

rabbits?

 

I cannot 

bear to lose

another pet

to wild desires.

 

I’ll replace her

with a rock

beneath 

the willow tree.

When the tall grass

sways in wind,

I’ll see a

twitching nose.

 

Loose Head

 

I am a loose-head loskop,

a head that floats

above my shoulders,

a helium brain,

an airhead.

I can’t find the tethers

to hold myself in place.

I know I put them

somewhere that I thought

I’d not forget.

But now I have forgotten

what I thought

I should recall.

By the time I think

it’s crucial, 

it won’t matter anymore.

 

Nolcha Fox has written all her life, starting with poop and crayons on the walls. Her poems have been published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Alien Buddha Zine, Medusa’s Kitchen and others. Her chapbook, “My Father’s Ghost Hates Cats,” is available on Amazon.