stolen Yet Shielding.


A thief once said that the broken retain nothing.
That my voice would scatter, unbending the night.

 And yet, I can sense: the fall, the break-
the fragility of edge,
the negligence of rough.

 I am one thousand splinters-
shards so small that if I open,
The sequined deep would spill.

in the tiny,
the glittering of mi historia-
I, the intuitive-
sink and protect,
consenting my sol,
(my gentle, my warmth)
to share, protect, and shield.

(A broken vessel may not be held, but it can flow and part.)

Rachel Hoermann


The New Rug

Braids tight; woven firm in form.
Frames replacing cycles,
borders where curves once twisted.
Time in the dusty curls,
daunting with its intricacy.
Past washed off, mistakes tidied-
crafted perfection smooth.

The length, the bolts.

Reworkings and melds.

The sum of creation,
the warming of cloth.

In the bends and the knits,

The infirm moments:

Vulnerable and spent.

To devise new. 


​East Fork:

A Journal of the Arts​​

The Lady of Shalott Escapes

The smell of damp wood,
The breeze of a windowed fan-
The paneled half octagon of my room:
Smooth, reflective, and stained.

The birds in the maples-
Robins puffed and full of slow song.
The voyeur neighbor mowing:
Under the willow, into the marsh.

A Geist, a phantom.
More memory than mist –
A shadow of a star without space.

I waited. I paused.

I let all energy be guilted away-
And lingered.

Taking little notice of freedom,
I accepted the priest’s notes on important traits:
manilla smiles and cello hips,
fertility, obedience, and chasteness.

And was told to catalog them as:
Life goals.

 Then from across another world-
A wide window of hope and
culture appeared before me:
Books, technology, philosophy-
the world and it’s assumed sinners,
the educated and the wise,
feminists and revolutionized:
They slid into my skin –
(Informed and brilliant)
Raising my questions and my sight-
My perception and understanding alive!

 My amazon heart, my graceless frame-
Finally liberalized, educated, and free!

The towering ivy left behind with
the cross (that was never carried by Jesus.)

I hastily cast my meekness aside-
Like a shot-
I soared into the warmth of self.

I, woman, and creator,
The true God of earth,
No longer bound by men or their ineptest.