Pear Trees on Irving Street
Richard Widerkehr They float, these white trees-- a few petals, fallen to the street, not stars fading, not snow. The trees have blossomed in a freezing east wind. None, I think, has any regrets or choice. If the night frost comes too thick, too fast, they’ll give what they have to, as if it were nothing-- these clusters, held not by black branches, but their own buoyancy. |
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About the Author:
Richard Widerkehr received his M.A. from Columbia University and won two Hopwood first prizes for poetry at the University of Michigan. Recent work has appeared in Rattle, Floating Bridge Review, Cirque, and Penumbra. He has two books of poems, The Way Home (Plain View Press) and Her Story of Fire (Egress Studio Press), along with two chapbooks and a novel, Sedimental Journey (Tarragon Books). He's been a writing teacher and, later on, a case manager with the mentally ill. He reads poems for Shark Reef Review.
Richard Widerkehr received his M.A. from Columbia University and won two Hopwood first prizes for poetry at the University of Michigan. Recent work has appeared in Rattle, Floating Bridge Review, Cirque, and Penumbra. He has two books of poems, The Way Home (Plain View Press) and Her Story of Fire (Egress Studio Press), along with two chapbooks and a novel, Sedimental Journey (Tarragon Books). He's been a writing teacher and, later on, a case manager with the mentally ill. He reads poems for Shark Reef Review.
