The Poetic Hill

Judy Leaver frequently uses the view from her living room on Lincoln Park as her poetic muse. In this she has something in common with former US Poet Laureate Billy Collins. “I see from his poetry,” she writes, “that he spends a lot of time looking out the window, searching for the next knockout opening line, considering an ironic focus on his dog as subject, or dreaming up a wistful closing to startle his readers.” In addition to poetry Leaver also writes essays, short stories, articles, and a blog (“Literary Mileage”), and was selected to participate in a poetry workshop with Collins as part of the Key West Literary Seminar.

View from a Room

Seven o’clock a.m.
The twilight before daybreak is so fleeting –
headlights string along East Capitol,
like Christmas lights on the fence of my neighbor
who holds out until Valentine’s day
to stave off the chill of bare oak limbs
frigid sidewalks, dead flowers
Seven-forty a.m.
The sun dazzles trees and dog walkers,
highlights my asparagus fern,
turns Ben’s silky gray coat
into a silver aura and fires a glare
on the computer screen that
forces me to move across the room.
Eight a.m.
Sun lights up the foggy breath
of the dog walkers, glints off 
the street sign, shines in my eyes
and illuminates all the cat hair
on the arm of the couch
where Jerry sits.
Eight-thirty a.m.
A little toddler in pink
scampers in the park with
two fluffy white dogs. 
Suddenly an exuberant
brown dog bolts from the park
to chase a motorcycle.
Cars round the corner
at 13th to barrel down
the street every morning,
trying in vain
to beat the light
at the corner of 11th

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