Gold bells of Carolina Jessamine
scent the antebellum stairs of the tennis club

A dinner for volunteers,
we crunch the green salad,
nuzzle wine on the terrace.

Spring in February quivers,
throws a range of voices around us
like a warming cloak.
The evening star reigns the sky.
The river’s mirror flickers, sways
city lights in rhythm

like our conversation of the new law
and how I carried luck in my luggage,
an immigrant fifty years ago.

A wall of clouds spreads the horizon.
I hear the pop  pop  pop
of balls on the courts below.

Laughter echoes through the trees,
still bare in their skeletons.

Beyond the stars, darkness hums.

Image credit: Venus and the crescent moon image (NASA/Bill Dunford, Jan 2019) superimposed with parapet stone railing (Pixabay)

• About
• Latest Posts

Helga Kidder

Helga Kidder lives in the hills of Tennessee. She was awarded an MFA from Vermont College. Co-founder of the Chattanooga Writers Guild, she leads one of its poetry groups. Her poems have been published in Slipstream, Moebius, Poetry South and many others as well as in the anthology Carrying the Branch: Poets in Search of Peace. She has three poetry collections: Wild Plums, Luckier than the Stars, and Blackberry Winter.

Latest posts by Helga Kidder (see all)

• The Statue of Liberty by Helga Kidder - January 6, 2023
• Stars Shine on Everyone – Helga Kidder - December 15, 2019
• Dance of the Forgotten – by Helga Kidder - November 25, 2019