Frostwriting

Still Waiting

by Wilda Morris

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For two thousand years
I have stood loyally,
my terra cotta feet
firmly planted,
top-knot pointing up
toward sun my eyes
never see. My fingers
bend to hold arrows.
My bow fell to dust
centuries ago.
I await commands
from the lips of a terra
cotta general, a general
silent when Han troops
stormed Shaanxi,
when rebel soldiers flamed
our quarters and the roof
collapsed, terra cotta heads
rolling, comrades falling
into dust and ash.
While Xiang Yu burned
Qin palaces, robbed
the mausoleum
of Qin Shi Huangdi,
I waited. Still the lips
of the commanding
general were silent. Not
even the pheasant
feathers of his terra cotta
cap moved.

Wilda Morris is Workshop Chair of Poets and Patrons of Chicago. Her poems have appeared in a variety of print publications, including in The ChristianScience Monitor and The Kerf . The Rockford Writers’ Guild published her book, Szechwan Shrimp and Fortune Cookies: Poems from a Chinese Restaurant. She is a winner of the 2009 Prairie Poetry Award from College of DuPage. Her poetry blog is found at wildamorris.blogspot.com .

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Fiction

Poetry

Postcards