I haven’t seen my shadow today.
I think it may have run away.
A day ago we fought a bit,
And I said I was sick of it!
Now, I think I miss that guy . . .
Though, not enough that I might cry,
But just enough to look for him
In places where the light is dim.
French Quarter, New Orleans
Notes in the French Quarter
On her yellow recorder.
Not a tune, not a song,
But they belong
In a city where music lives.
Manchester, Maryland
I cast the words in your direction,
on barbed hooks, with vile bait.
I waited at the water’s edge,
and I learned a bit too late—
that all I had intended was to
catch and throw you back,
but the words had been so hateful
that the waters had turned black,
and you were dying in the deep,
while I stood with rod and line,
wishing I could reel back
words that poisoned brine.
Ocean City, Maryland
When mermaids–laughing, young, and sweet–
Shift from flippers to ten-toed feet,
Beware of smiles that lure you there–
Of rosy cheeks and curly hair.
For they won’t stay that way for long,
And all you’ll keep is their sweet song.
Washington, D.C.
Trees newly frosted
in snowy white and pale pink
are just within reach
Where only darkness heard me scream,
in that awkward state, half awake,
I fought to shake a poisoned dream.
So lonely, wretched, was the theme,
I feared that I would simply break
where only darkness heard me scream.
But I was tangled, it would seem,
in the coils of a satin snake.
I fought to shake a poisoned dream.
My senses slow, my pulse extreme,
my hands and lips began to quake,
where only darkness heard me scream.
Frantic, I searched for any beam
of moonlight. For sanity’s sake,
I fought to shake a poisoned dream,
that drowned me in a wicked stream,
and caused my heart and soul to ache.
Where only darkness heard me scream,
I fought to shake a poisoned dream.
Baltimore, Maryland
At night we wish for you sweet dreams
inspired, maybe, by the beams
of moonlight through the blind.
But daydreams also should be sweet
and fueled by a high sun’s heat
so you can best unwind.
Bolton Hill, Baltimore
Stop a yellow bullet with your bare hand.
Fire it again, and ride it through this land.
Journey up the hill, natives call the Mount.
Pass the obelisk and the sparkling fount.
Near the hub, where the weary will arrive,
the minutes left for you are under five.
Turn to face the way of pale, fading light.
Find Park and see how tender is the night.
She found a place in Autumn’s hall
To dance among the leaves,
To pirouette in fading light,
And trump what Fall achieves.
Her variation went unseen,
By all but nature’s eyes;
Yet still she moved adagio
To Autumn’s windy cries.
Her toes were soft on dying grass;
She warmed up Autumn’s air;
And she knew well with every step,
Her soul would be laid bare.
How solemnly she stood at last,
And watched the moon appear.
She had danced on Autumn’s stage,
And silence was her cheer.
Mary Lundstedt 
