shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Lisa Meserole



Everywhere I look we're losing
limbs and more, but the Pileated
Woodpecker dances a black bottom stomp
to the beat of his red-crested hammer;
chips fly, nourishment found
in a decaying stump felled storms ago.
I grow on old wood, but not after
true winters like the one we just had.
Now old wood is dead wood and
my feet haven't the heart for dancing,
but the hydrangeas re-grow
from the ground up.