Refracted Light

Roberta Shellum Dohse

October 24, 2021

The grasses grow tall

in the low-lying ditches

near the edge of the road where

they wave in the breeze.

Their fluffy heads, full of seed, glisten

purple and silver in the bright sun slanting,

glancing through the trees:

tall as they edge down the hill

and glint bright yellow in late rays of the day,

as the sun smiles down from a bright blue sky,

only beginning to darken toward eventide.

The water pooled by the road deep 

in the ditches begins to blacken now

under shadows that stretch low towards the road.

It reminds me of you,

all the secrets you hold

so very close to your heart.

And though we drink tea in the warm afternoons

and I hug you tightly as my dearest friend,

a wall seems to close

when I come too close.

Then you laugh, back up, and off we go

on different trails of confidence.

Joy holds the days, although always a space

a holding back

like the still dark pools 

at the side of the road

quiet beneath the lowering sun, 

keeping their secrets deep.

But even then they reflect the light,

holding on to the light as long as they can.

And you, my friend, you do the same,

and in the glint of that light, never mind the space,

my arms are long enough.

Roberta Shellum Dohse hails primarily from California. She is a graduate of the University of California Berkeley. After a stint on a farm in northern Minnesota and time in Oregon, she moved to Texas in 1980. She attended law school at the University of Houston and has practiced law in Corpus Christi, Texas since 1997. A former flight instructor and college professor, Roberta has been published in Corpus Christi Writers Anthology series (2018-2021), Lamar University’s Odes and Elegies, Eco-Poetry from the Texas Gulf Coast (November 2020), Voices de la Luna, Austin International Poetry Festival Anthology, and Poetry at Round Top.