It is thin and threadbare now,
That magic pouch you gave me,
A sack big enough to house the winds of the world 
And small enough to encase a single ruby.
Have I awoken from a dream?
Just yesterday we were walking through the summer fields hand in hand,
The farmhouses in the valley spread before us like a carpet,
The clouds above us glowing amber in the sunset. 
We were about to take the leap, 
Ready to fly. 
Now I open my eyes and here I am
Writing poetry in a church 
With my friends.

Rosalind Resnick
​Dec. 13, 2016

Rain, you bring life from the Earth,
Bread from the ground,
Yet you lash at my windows with your angry claws,
Ripping the joy from my heart.
In Cuba, your name is hurricane. 
In China, you are typhoon. 
In North Dakota, they call you blizzard. 
You create, you destroy,
You go on and on,
Blind to good and evil. 
And, even when you stop
And let in a little sun,
I can still hear you in my brain,
The endless leak that won't let me sleep
That drips despair in my empty room. 
You course down my cheeks 
Like cold, metal tears
To the bottom of the well of souls,
The damnation of the drowned.


Rosalind Resnick
Dec. 6, 2016