Poetry by Jeanine Stevens
Here at the beginning of the year,
dinner of broiled scallops,
Sonoma Valley wine.
In twilight, Venus forever shy, wavering.
I sit in the redwood gazebo
goblet in hand
In my worn Uggs and infinity scarf
not allowed to go in just yet.
Faint starlight, orange slit of sun—
my hands folded.
A heavy presence, maybe a spirit,
even more than one, muscular
and brown, apart from the living.
Perhaps a thing unfinished,
still wanting.
And with intention
just this night, in the quiet
of late commuters I stay long
in the retreating hour.
Wind chimes hold zinnia’s dust,
each day alike, not exactly the same.
Jeanine Stevens has a number of poetry collections and award winning chapbooks. Poems have appeared in Rosebud, Poet Lore, Evansville Review, The McGuffin, Comstock Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Chiron Review, and Two Thirds North (Sweden), among many other publications. She is Professor Emerita at American River College.
