Dianne Silvestri

Two Poems by Dianne Silvestri

Long Winter

The driveway needs no vision test—
it is blind, sunk between sand-grizzled
heaps of frozen snow.
Vanished are roadside mailboxes
once ready to shake hands.
The Postal Service will temporarily deliver
mail to ice chests wedged into
the towering banks.
In the back yard a pine bends over
to vomit snow. Even nowhere
is a long way to go this winter.

 

 

Smothered

A neighborhood wadded white,
clods fisted at the sills,
defacing shrubs and stairs,

burying the bronze ducks that parade
beneath a tree four houses down,
three stoic stone frogs that monitor

the birdbath next door, and, of course,
the Christmas lights draped on our bushes,
smothered many storms ago.

 


Dianne Silvestri is a physician, mother of four grown children, and stem cell bone marrow transplant recipient for acute leukemia. While tapering her careers in medicine and motherhood, she has indulged her sweet spot—poetry. She participates in Boston’s PoemWorks Workshop for publishing poets. Her works have appeared or are forthcoming in Earth’s Daughters, The Comstock Review, The Pharos, The Somerville News, Evening Street Review, Steam Ticket, and Boston Literary Magazine. Her chapbook Necessary Sentiments is scheduled for release soon from Finishing Line Press.



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