The sun is new every day.
–Heraclitus
i.
Which I mistakenly read as
The sun is never happy.
ii.
Apollo with his
golf cart pulled by
Golden labs.
iii.
The sun was happy
enough to light me
in September
but takes it all back
by February.
Zero sun game.
iv.
Bitter loss,
here is my
recapitulation
of self.
v.
The winter
light
is small
and white
as a cabbage moth.
✶✶✶✶
Jeanne Obbard received her bachelor’s degree in feminist and gender studies from Bryn Mawr College, and works in clinical trial management. A 2001 Leeway Seedling Award recipient, her poetry has appeared in Barrow Street, Cider Press Review, IthacaLit, and The Moth, and has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. She is a poetry reader and reviewer for Drunk Monkeys.
Another Chicago Magazine 