Blue Ridge, November

Blue Ridge November

Up at the cabin we would watch
the seasons change on these old hills.
Summers we’d swim naked in the dark
river where you dove for the lost ring
you never found.    

Once, on the dusty river road, a horse
black as the night he ran in pounded
up so close we felt the sweat swing wildly
off him and breathed in the exhalation
of his startled snort. 

Soon, snow will cloak the young pines
on the slope below us, glazing
their needles with ice.

Now, our old bodies nestle restful
shape against shape
   soft swell of your belly   
            curve of my hip   
like hills worn down by time
and the sheer weightiness
of worldly things. 

An almost welcome veil descends
on us these short dark days—but in the end 
who knows what light may shine. 

Sally Zakariya.jpg

Sally Zakariya’s poetry has appeared in some 75 print and online journals and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Her most recent publication is The Unknowable Mystery of Other People (Poetry Box, 2019). She is also the author of Personal Astronomy, When You Escape, Insectomania, and Arithmetic and other verses, as well as the editor of a poetry anthology, Joys of the Table. A former magazine writer and editor, Zakariya lives in Arlington, Virginia, with her husband and two cats. She blogs at

Banner image/ Virginia State Parks / CC BY 2.0