The HyperTexts

Vera Ignatowitsch

Vera Ignatowitsch loves poetry and has been writing it for decades; however, she has only recently begun to submit poems for publication. Her poetry has appeared in The Lyric, two anthologies, and in online publications. She is also the Formal & Rhyming Poetry Editor for Better Than Starbucks.

Small Child

Small child
with my eyes
return my heart before you wander.

Take the jewels.
I wish you plenty.
Place a flower’s petals gently.
Break a toy but not intently.

Sing once
through my eyes,
calmest cataclysm of passion;
only please return my heart
before you wander,
though I could not bear to accept it,

small child
with my eyes.

By the Lake

The water licks the sandy shore
clean as an urban beach can be.
No condoms here, where families
in makeshift camps make obstacles
for dogwalkers. The hot dog stand
is closing now, its shadow grown
deep with another day’s regrets.

Our dogs cavort. You crouch and break
apart the extra bun you bought
for this, for feeding lakeshore birds.
Their squawking cries drown out the breeze
ruffling the water, stirring the leaves.
You parcel morsels out to them
divided fairly by deft hands.

The big ones bully forward, try
to gobble everything. You scold
them, carefully tossing tidbits
to every smaller one. Finished,
you turn your face to me, as placid
as a child’s, a gift I could not
deserve, but now mine forever.

To My Lost Loves

for my father Walter and my husbands Edwin and Steven

My loves departed in the dead of night,
the darkest hour. I longed to follow there,
to drown, and never turn back to the light.

Forsaken, I kept searching for a sight
of them. My breath would barely stir the air.
I mourned alone as clocks struck 2 each night.

Hot grief, it seized my throat and gripped it tight,
just held me pinioned, fixed my haunted stare
on them, and banished all the light.

They went without presentiment of flight,
went leaving silent shrouds to kiss me where
I waited, blind with loss each endless night.

No last goodbye, no soft caress, no bright
consoling gesture did they have to spare
for me. They went, extinguishing the light.

Godspeed my loves. You lost the final fight.
It doesn’t matter whether it was fair.
You call me now; you call by dead of night
and tell me turn! Turn back toward the light!

The HyperTexts