Cyclist and Crow
She seems relaxed. She pedals her Peugeot
with sneakered ease—but stares across the field
to watch the bird outpacing her. Although
she seems relaxed, she pedals her Peugeot
not quite as effortlessly as the crow
appears to glide; she’s earthbound, though two-wheeled.
She seems relaxed—she pedals her Peugeot
with sneakered ease—but stares across the field.
I know I’ll win. I hit the water first
and made a splash—but did I jump the gun,
undoing the triumph for which I thirst?
Can I still win? I hit the water first,
my arms and legs extended in a burst
of power—but false starts can’t be undone.
I may not win. I hit the water first
and made a splash, but did I jump the gun?
Woman Carrying Canoe
The image isn’t lewd; it doesn’t bare
her breasts or bottom. But it bothers me
that we don’t see her head—eyes, mouth, and hair.
The image isn’t lewd, it doesn’t bare
what should be private, but we don’t see where
her thoughts unfold—just limbs flexed forcefully.
The image isn’t lewd—it doesn’t bare
her breasts or bottom—but it bothers me.
Uncounted miles from any place she knows,
she slumps against her Beetle—stupid car
she never should have bought. In dirty clothes,
uncounted miles from any place she knows,
no phone, no food, she wonders why she chose
to make this trip alone. She’s gone too far:
uncounted miles from any place she knows.
She slumps against her Beetle. Stupid car.
Jean L. Kreiling
Jean L. Kreiling is the author of three collections of poetry: Shared History (2022), Arts & Letters & Love (2018), and The Truth in Dissonance (2014). Her work has been awarded the Rhina Espaillat Poetry Prize, the Frost Farm Prize, the Able Muse Write Prize, three New England Poetry Club prizes, and the Plymouth Poetry Contest prize, among other honours. An Associate Poetry Editor for Able Muse: A Review of Poetry, Prose & Art, she lives on the coast of Massachusetts.
The Ekphrastic Review
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