Lisa Meserole

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San Giovanni a Piro, Italy

smell of pine, steep ascent
goat bells in a curtain of clouds
thunder, my heavy breaths
mists sweep across our path
from unseen sea cliffs to shadowed forest
butterflies alight our footfalls with cones, needles,
rocks under step, on the way down I'll stop
and hear young chickadee-like birds
call tetete-tetete in the gray summer wood
but on the way up only thunder in mist
bells and my out of shape panting
and my brother's voice
I feel like we're walking to God
we came for the panoramic view
but the path focused us
in depth of field

Lisa Meserole teaches music and movement to young children in Connecticut. Her poems have previously appeared in Shot Glass Journal, Connecticut River Review, Earth's Daughters, Green Hills Literary Lantern, The Healing Muse, and Illya's Honey.