Sunday, February 28, 2016


Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

It isn’t just the salamander that you save,
on a dark, warm, rainy night, crossing the road,
sure to be crushed into something pale and
mushy, maybe with reminiscent spots or
blotches or stripes, no, there is more in your
wet, finger-puckering hand, there is evidence
of ancient times and awe. A voice reminds you
of things you had forgotten. You don’t fully
understand, but you do.

© 2016-2018/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Wonderment: New and Selected Poems" (a work in progress)

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