Poetry by Susan Zwingli
I remember we came this way,
flirty, azure sports car filled to the brim,
old vinyl records, thick-lined winter boots, grandmother’s quilt
Full of the start of it all,
the beginning of everything
How is it possible that 30 years later,
I return this way, alone?
Is it just my imagination,
or does your laughter still echo in the winter wind?
Are those your footprints in the snow?
The sighing cornfields stir, crackled leaves rustling
All the endings press against my heart
Just then, a flock of snow geese startle
In feathered white waves, they lift upward, upward,
carrying my whispered goodbye, leaving a strange peace
I turn to leave, those old boots crunching snowdrift,
feeling new beginnings in my wings
Susan Zwingli has been published in the 2023 One Page Poetry Anthology and in the May 2024 edition of The Bluebird Word. She has a B.A. in English and a M.A. in Spiritual Formation. She lives in Richmond, VA, and writes about love, loss, survival, healing, and spirituality.
