Animus

Posted on December 30, 2011 by Luisa A. Igloria
This entry is part 9 of 60 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2011-12

In the half-dark: branches and twigs, statues,
cobbled walks stenciled with snow— Always,
the way half-known, half-erased. Purpose,
the key simply waiting its turn in the lock.

—Luisa A. Igloria
12 30 2011

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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About Luisa A. Igloria

Poet Luisa A. Igloria (website) is the author of Juan Luna’s Revolver (2009 Ernest Sandeen Prize, University of Notre Dame Press), Trill & Mordent (WordTech Editions, 2005) and 8 other books. When she isn’t writing, reading, or teaching, she cooks with her family, hand-binds books, listens to tango music, and keeps her radar tuned for cool lizard sightings.
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4 Responses to Animus

  1. Albert B. Casuga says:
    December 31, 2011 at 9:54 pm

    ARDENT WISH

    That night will come, fully felt, indelible,
    there will be no key to turn on the door:
    it was always with me in my breastpocket
    where it is easy enough to feel, the throbs
    underneath it urging me to take the path
    home where you said my stenciled footsteps
    can still be traced even with the early snow
    on the cobble stones. I shall retrace them.

    —Albert B. Casuga
    12-31-11

  2. Dale Favier says:
    January 1, 2012 at 9:36 pm

    I really like this.