The Spring Circle
written by: Meg Smith
@MegSmith_Writer
The water runs low and reveals
naked rocks, long strands in
the yellowed grass of winter.
I had once looked from this bridge
in search of a home, in search of
a place to fashion a family from
lonely clay. No sun, no room
of high ceilings, could hold me.
I have not cast out all I have loved.
I have put out my arms to draw them in,
if only in the chill of fast-moving clouds.
Meg Smith
Meg Smith is a writer, journalist, dancer and events producer, living in Lowell, Mass. Her poetry has appeared in The Cafe Review, Beliveau Review, Raven Cage, Poetry Bay, and many more. From 1995 to 2019, she served on the board of Lowell Celebrates Kerouac!, a festival honoring Lowell-born author, Jack Kerouac. She is the author of five poetry books. Her first short fiction collection, The Plague Confessor, is due out in fall 2020 from Emu Books.
Latest posts by Meg Smith (see all)
- My Last Sighting of Merlina - October 14, 2021
- The Spring Circle - July 8, 2021
- Three Dreams of Winter - March 18, 2021
