SLICES OF STONE
I kicked a stone in the dog yard
and it split into five slices
pre-fractured by cold and thaw and cold.
I held the pieces together in my hand
and it was impossible to tell
the stone was not whole.
I see a school of leaves
in yellow pinafores,
to be dismissed.
HOW TO BE A DRAGONFLY
Think of gauze wings and lightness
when you are dark-nymphing in the mud,
jaw huge and protruding for the predatory gulp.
Crawl up the weedy stem, hooked
pairs of feet in triplicate, clinging to the old ways—
Split the exoskeleton, extract each rumpled wing.
Intricate unfurling completed, light shines through every delicate pane—
like stained-glass windows high above the nave.
Lucy Tyrrell‘s interests in nature and wild landscapes, outdoor pursuits (mushing, hiking, canoeing), and travel are what inspire her writing and art. She cherishes the 16 years she spent in Alaska, but recently moved with eight huskies back to the Lower 48. For her new chapter of life near Bayfield, Wisconsin, she traded a big mountain (Denali) for a big lake (Lake Superior).