The Stone

in my pocket is
the smooth face
of a larger rock
a clean break
I can’t recall
its mother self
or whether I
tossed it away
or let it lie
in the copper shallows
of Cazenovia Creek
that wide-bedded
flat-rocked water way

when I was a shy
and chubby child
my dad and I
played at being cowboys
on the steep and roadside
slope of Rock Creek Park
taking cover
behind tumbled boulders
and I
refused to die
I didn’t understand how the world works
I didn’t understand my father’s anger
what did I
know of war
my fingers trace the jagged edge of memory
I no longer worry the wild away

Nina Heiser
June 3, 2024

Sanctuary

My hands lift a child
high into the air
our faces tilt frozen
toward the sky laughing
Praise it
my hands lift my eyes
clenched sorrows draw tears
like sap from a sugaring tree
An elegy
my hands lift shameless
tuck and wrap yesterdays
in the pale coverings of
The confessional
my hands lift pen
to paper for pleasure
to pass my time longing
toward those tender mercies
I am I write I am

Nina Heiser
January 14, 2025