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Willows Wept
Review

a journal of experimental nature
writing

The Chill

a poem by Karen
Kelsay

She calls when apple boughs are light
in frost and arch
with weight of ruby-clustered
globes. When aspens rise like candles
tipped
in gold, each glimmering on autumn's

fading hills. I hear her muted
winter words.
They chill the maple into hues of red and chant
of northern
lights and falling stars. My pear
tree drops its fruit, a magpie
tucks

her wing, and every silver birch begins
to lose its crown. All
nature chants for snow
while I turn like the tamarack along the
ridge,
whose naked branches long for summer sky.

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Issue 1:
Fall 2008
Issue
2: Winter 2009
Issue
3: Spring 2009

Issue
4: Summer 2009