I. Husband
Laughter has carried us
down this river. Now, it meanders
adagio. Once young and in love,
we walked these streets
while neighbors slept, so joyful
my heart beat in my legs:
Assemble! Chasse! We thought the night
was ours alone until
we heard applause
from a darkened window,
like distant rapids.
II. Letting go
Jade river, rushing towards
change, and the mirror gives no answers.
How do I swallow my heart
and let my youngest son be delivered
into the rough hands of circumstance, forced
to walk on his own two feet
in a dangerous
world: faith-sight
faith-sight?
III. Baby Man
While you grew under my heart,
a high fever carved small ridges in your teeth.
I thought I was losing you,
but later the ultrasound found
the ghost of your twin.
I named him Judah.
Now the fever of your discontent
burns in my bones.
Last night, you slipped
from the house
and ran in the rain.
Rachel Landrum Crumble recently retired from teaching high school, having previously taught kindergarten through college. She has published in The Porterhouse Review, Typishly, SheilaNaGig, and Common Ground Review, Spoon River Review, The Banyan Review, among others, and forthcoming in Poetry Breakfast and Humans of the World. Her first poetry collection, Sister Sorrow, was published by Finishing Line Press in January 2022. She lives with her husband of 43 years, a jazz drummer, and near 2 of their 3 adult children, and two adorable grand twins.
Euphony Journal 