Joan Raymond

I pluck stretchy, stringy,
fruity, flavors from
beige tile,
school books,
Birkenstocks.

He relishes
chewing it.
Chomping globs
leaving pieces
peeking out from
white shag carpets,
under clothes,
his hair.

Creating chaos,
with no concern
for time I take
to pry,
peel,
unstick,
undo,
all his messes.

I yell, chase him
through the house
finding traces
on lace pillows,
in my hairbrush,
inside my laptop.

Oh why,
did I ever
share
my bubblegum
with Wilfred,
my Saint Bernard?

—Joan Raymond

Joan Raymond, a member of WOK since January 2012, completed her BA in English/Creative Writing in Fall 2014 and MA in English/Creative Writing in early 2017. She writes women’s fiction, creative non-fiction, and children’s picture books, and dabbles in poetry.

A worn, wooden fence
Stands firm. A boundary between
Myself and life unnoticed
Before today. I wonder –

What lies beyond, concealed,
Behind the steadfast obstruction?
Perhaps an acquaintance or friendly face –
Maybe a kindred soul.

I search the peeled planks for
Ways to peer past my
Gnarled barrier, and to my surprise I spy
A tiny, insignificant knothole.

Has it been there all along?
Secreted from sight – a reality –
A continuation of activity
Hidden long ago from view.

My pulse quickens as I peer through
Discovering a tinge of color –
Not from a face but a garden,
Paused and prepared to rest.

There stand faded flowers held fast
To spent stalks and stems. They wait –
For summer’s end, and
Fall’s signal to slumber.

I turn from the emotionless barricade,
My curiosity satisfied. My heart
In harmony from a new
Perspective of life within my view.

—Joan Raymond

Joan Raymond, a member of WOK since January 2012, completed her BA in English/Creative Writing in Fall 2014 and MA in English/Creative Writing in early 2017. She writes women’s fiction, creative non-fiction, and children’s picture books and dabbles in poetry.