WITH THE RISING MOON 

With each moon rising
the soprano voice
of a young boy, 
singing a song
without words, 
floats across the waves. 

She feels his presence
and rests her hand
on her son’s chest, 
then feels it rise
with every breath, 
her child alive.

The night passes.
Again the moon sets
and Heaven recedes, 
ending his song. She
wakens back on earth,
her child left behind.

 

DUST 

Vacant stares replace once
bright eyes. An animated face
turns slack, reflecting the brown,
brittle leaves now living within
your head. Bone drips into veins, 
deserting you, your body bending,
breaking from your slight weight.
Muscle melts, flesh hangs, your
skeleton too frail for support.
The pull of the earth reclaims
the dust that once was you.


MELISSA RENDLEN is a practicing physician who has recently become semi-retired. She has taken advantage of her extra time by taking an Amherst writing class and auditing a college creative writing class at Valparaiso University. Since then she has had poetry published in Ink in Thirds, Writing Raw, and an honorable mention in Flash Fiction's Three Line Thursday last September. Ground Fresh Thursday Press will also be publishing one of her poems in September 2016.