November 4, 2015

Two poems by Annette Alaine


Velvet darkness

surrounds the woods
as we walk home.

Woodsmoke fills the air,
scent of burning wood
and decaying leaves
crushed under foot
mixed with briny marsh.

Walking back in time—
to a land, long forgotten.


Drifting once again,
like seaweed being pulled along the current—
pounded by the fierce surf,
giving the illusion of being in control,
as I am battered and tossed upon the shore—
until, like the seaweed—
I am abandoned at the high tide mark,
dry and spent.

Annette Alaine grew up in a working class neighborhood in the suburbs of Washington DC with her five siblings. She has lived in Florida for over forty years. The wild, natural beauty of the land around north Florida is a frequent subject of her poetry. 

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