Beate Sigriddaughter


The god in me is sad today
for no good reason, no,
just that the world is biting
its lips and squirming
under the whip of dishonor.

I lie in the lap of shadows
that stroke the bark of my face,
too drained for tears this day
of gunshots and rape, assorted
other anger.

……………….Even though
you are exhausted, whisper
the shadows, this world shines.

It is true. A lizard posing
in the dryer duct elicits
a smile. The honor of being
alive for beauty, raindrops,
action, hope.




September Sunsets

At the airport the sunset is hazy,
but perfect. Then it fades.
I think of silver hair, of blond
and dark no longer clashing,
and thinking “silver” is a remnant
of old worship I want tamed.

He writes: “The sun sets early
in the southern hemisphere.”
But even in this north
this is the season of the equinox,
our brief equality. The falling leaves,
I dream, drift south
into a spring, a growing playground
for the sun we have divided.







Beate Sigriddaughter lives and writes in New Mexico, USA, the Land of Enchantment. Her work has received several Pushcart Prize nominations and poetry awards. In 2018 FutureCycle Press will publish her poetry collection Xanthippe and Her Friends.