Andira Dodge

There is a spot in the crook
of trees by the lake,
firs and alder and hemlock,
where I rush to rest sometimes.
Though mostly alone, I take
memories and struggles with me
to leave by the shore.
It can be so nice
to think of waves
carrying trouble away.
I took a remembrance
a few days ago,
a bit of autumn he left me with
in my veins-
the rusty leaves
and muddy tear tracks
I no longer cling to
except silently,
like a girl’s treasured flower petal,
tucked inside a book.
I imagined his hurt on
my body and the hurt he must have
kept for himself
and I didn’t wonder at our
capacity for weather forecasts.
Rather, I found a yellowed leaf
nearby and decided that would be
my vessel.
I set it at the edge
of the lake and whispered
some secret wishes.
The leaf floated slowly
yet further and further. I watched
as it became smaller in my view.

Andira Dodge lives in rural Pennsylvania where she writes whenever she can and enjoys capturing the full range of seasons with her camera. A graduate of Temple University, she has worked for both a large corporate public relations firm and a small professional theater. She has had her poetry and photography published, most often in independent online magazines. You may explore more of her work by visiting
Read more from Andira Dodge: What To Do with Saffron; Blood, Bananas, and Mystery