by Victoria Twomey
when I had the simple mind of a child you were always by my side now I am a learned traveler understanding nothing I look for you in spires pointing the way to someone else’s heaven in clanging bells in stories painted on colored glass in anticipation of approaching thunder in the sky, struck dumb by blinding light in curving river paths etched with the tip of your finger in the prairie made smooth with the palm of your hand come close and speak to me as you once did I long to hear your voice painted as before, with summer rain cure me of this inner silence infuse me with your immaculate song make yourself small enough to sit beside me to hold my imperfect, fragile hand make me simple once more that I may accept the journey to come come close, for there are foreign lands ahead I cannot face alone
Victoria Twomey is a poet and an artist in equal measure. She has appeared as a featured poet at venues around NY, including the Hecksher Museum of Art, The Poetry Barn, Barnes & Noble, and Borders Books. Her poems have been published in several anthologies, in newspapers and on the web, including Sanctuary Magazine, BigCityLit, PoetryBay, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, the Tipton Poetry Journal, Verse-Virtual and The Agape Review. Her poem “Pieta” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.