Photo by an_vision on Unsplash

My husband was a green-eyed glamour

something he took with him when he died.

I lost my way on the path to our car

our family of two ended


and I followed his family to mourn a box.

It was a cruel, sunny day

cloudless sky, no wind




Crocus buds emerging through the snow.

I am heading into danger

Danger in the anger

Danger on the davenport

Messenger in the sky

Hawk-hearted needs

Navigating no sound

No movement, no affect

Taking it all–into where?

My love of forests came from

Getting my needs met

Statements were questions

So I ran

And hid

And was…



Helen Hazelmare

Helen Hazelmare


Writer of cautionary tales and curated essayist. Maker of stuff & things at (she/they + we/our/ours)