Postcard Poem – What Stalks the Heart

“Killing might stop time, I thought – to be death and not for that moment to fear it” -from Massacre, Marie Howe

A Small Hint at What Stalks the Heart.

Does my cat, for instance,

sitting under the bird feeder,

with her silky and strokable fur,

feel the massacre move

thru her teeth the way

a cold fire, say, might spread

thru a field of dry grass


only char and feathers?

Alaya in her summer house




About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
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