I have touched the horizon of last things,
where my father’s heart flat-lined,
even though the respirator
kept lying to us.
I have watched a flood recede
to the lowest corner of the meadow,
seen the grass grow thickest
and truest in that place.
I have pressed river birch leaves
between the pages of my Bible.
Not even the weight of holy words
could flatten their veins.
My friend once owned a gun.
One night, rather than kill himself,
he turned it in at an emergency ward.
I have heard the gun was melted down.
I have seen a flood of hope
seep into my friend’s hollows.
I have seen his lifelines press
against God, leaving his mark.
Pressing Leaves
Janice lives in Souderton, PA. She began writing poetry in earnest after returning from a difficult experience in Bosnia. She is an enthusiastic, if not always successful, gardener. Her poetry has appeared in Saint Katherine Review, Relief, Windhover, Radix, One Art and others.