Contributions by Wilda Morris
Holding Hands on the Greyhound
I never knew the name
of the young man
who sat down next to me.
He did not probe my flesh,
kiss me or even talk much
but he held my hand
as Ohio rolled by.
For the first time,
I felt maybe,
Still Waiting
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…
Six Years in Sri Lanka
A little luck and the money
from my father’s will
and I was touring the world.
I settled down for six years
in the Sri Lankan highlands,
married a Sinhalese artist.
We carried paint
and canvas to the rainforest,
painted bromelaids, epiphytes,