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What Photographs Don’t Show

on the first anniversary of my mother’s death


The drift of cottonwood seeds on air.
The smell of evergreen warmed by sun,
and the angle of light through firs.
Birdsong somewhere in those woods,
its echo lovely and eerie off bark
and dirt and rock. The heat of sun
on smooth granite, the pounding
of water over falls. The tune
of bear bells, hopeful amulets
for safe passage. The faithfulness
of lungs and heart and feet, rhythm
they make to carry us through.
Her loss like a scar that pales,
sighs, and remains on steadfast flesh.


Jane Sasser’s poetry has appeared in The Sun, The Atlanta Review, The North American Review, Appalachian Heritage, and other anthologies and publications. She has published two poetry chapbooks, Recollecting the Snow and Itinerant.  She lives in Oak Ridge, TN, with her husband and rescue greyhounds.


Issue 6 >