Four Poems by Carol Clark Williams

Updated: Jan 1, 2020

Poem like a Quilt

She writes the word “stone".

It becomes a weight

seamed with quartz stitches

to catch any glinting light,

writes “field” and it spreads

a square patch of bowed wheat grass

tacked down with thistles

and French-knot dandelions.

She writes “wind.” Dust devils

spin up funnels in the field,

the grass shivers and smoothes

its green threads down.

She sets down “rock"; pauses,

considering where to place it.

It submerges in sudden current,

embroidered water patterns.

Sighing, she shuts her notebook.

Between frayed covers, water splashes,

seeds twist, release, and scatter, running

stitches across the wind-ironed field.

Instead of Finding Romance

I want to wear a cotton jacket,

patchwork of denim and royal blue,

age-bleached cuffs rolled back.

I want to be bowed, broad-shouldered, square;

walk out to meet the morning with garden shears,

stomp the sparse grass in worn brogans.

I want to be the town character,

one who causes people to half-smile

when the neighbors discuss me.