Judith Pacht
Circle
Julia is losing clumps of hair. She wears a wig out in the world, but at home or on long walks the wig stays on her vanity, her gray brown strands scatter. In the woods nearby, branches plunge into cool deep shade. Mulch thickens from years of leaves & rain. She settles into a drift of loss to contemplate chemotherapy. The air sings: a chorus of cicadas, birdsong, the winged zzz of diving insects. One tree limb rubs against another. A warm breeze lifts damselflies, birds, oak leaves on shafts of light – cool downdrafts drop them lower than shadow. Nothing is here, everything is here: spider silk & moss for nests, leaves for hatching swallowtail butterflies, the occasional cloud that darkens. Two birds circle. Alight, take off. She watches them disappear into a thicket – thin strands in their bills will line their nest, shape their home.
A three-time Pushcart nominee, Judith Pacht was first place winner in the Georgia Poetry Society’s Edgar Bowers competition. Her work has appeared in journals that include Ploughshares, Runes, Nimrod and Phoebe, and her poems have been translated into Russian where they were published in Foreign Literature (Moscow, Russia). Her work appears in numerous anthologies.
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