Sitting on a Hill

Written by: Cherie Black

A robust breeze lifts the pages
of my book.  My fingers
hug the paper tighter, keeping
words readable.  Voices - interjections -
from little people
excited about the grassy hill
and from big people
about "what they deserve"
blend with words from Amos,
he who creates the wind declares
to man what is his thought.
The warm sun balances
occasionally brisk air and I lie
back, close my eyes and rest.

Untitled

By Cherie Black

The feathers of her hat

curled perfectly.  Most stared;

others would reach

as if to touch

smile and return their hand to their sides.

No one

wore such extravagance

anymore.  They hated

caring for it - all the special

instructions.  It was

a headache and old

fashioned.  Once

the quality of such hats

with intricate beads

exotic lace and delicate feathers

(like the one she donned)

was considered worth the time

and effort. Now

such hats were relics

used

only in performances. 

But not for her. 

She'd resisted the urge to conform

and proudly

carried her hat.  She hoped

it would inspire

and remind onlookers

about beauty.

The world could benefit

from the shade of brims

and mystery
of covered heads.