Poetry of Love, Resistance, & Solidarity

Posts tagged ‘Shelly Krehbiel’

Wild Geese by Shelly Krehbiel

after Mary OliverKrehbiel

Maybe I don’t have to be good, but I

still want to be so badly. Tonight taking

out the trash had to come before making

dinner, had to make some suffering kind

 

of sense after so many hours with my

eyes at a glowing screen. Tonight taking

out trash was all I had of making

any kind of difference. There was trash. I
took it out. Grey-orange clouds held almost

rain. Then a noise, a solicitation,

a squawking calling me to seek it out.
I have never found the North Star. Its hope

comes and goes. But, a carnal direction

calls these geese home. I almost see it now.

~Shelly Krehbiel

Shelly Krehbiel, a Kansas native, grew up on a wheat farm in Lane County north of Garden City. She holds a BA from Pittsburg State University and an MFA from Antioch University Los Angeles. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in The Midwest Quarterly, Sulphur River Literary Review, and The Fourth River. She currently lives in Eugene, Oregon, where she works as a manager in the travel industry.

Stephen Meats, recently retired from teaching and administration at Pittsburg State University, is the author of a mixed genre collection of poems and stories, Dark Dove Descending and Other Parables (Mammoth Publications, 2013) and a collection of poems, Looking for the Pale Eagle (Woodley Press, 1993; expanded edition, Mammoth Publications, 2014). His poems, stories, and scholarly writings have appeared in numerous print and online publications, including more than two dozen articles on Whitman, Faulkner, and other writers in The Literary Encyclopedia. He has been poetry editor of The Midwest Quarterly since 1985. For his guest editorship, in addition to poems with Kansas associations, he asked contributors to submit work dealing with shore birds and water birds, if moved to do so, in recognition of his and his wife Ann’s recent move to Florida.

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148. To the Stars Through Difficulties: Shelly Krehbiel

Once, escape was a harvested field.
I wove my way through headless milo stalks
looking for something to hold.  I found

crickets and moonlight.  I lay down,
stretched my weight against earth,

lifted my arms, as if my hands could touch
the Milky Way. They couldn’t, but suddenly
I knew I was looking down and not falling.

Something bigger than me held on,
and for a while we spun there, shining.

— Shelly Krehbiel

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